Always
by Clearly Lock
Summary: A man without a woman is a gun without a trigger. This parallel of the events at the barricade is the story between Enjolras and the woman who is his mirror: a girl named Aurelie. She is his pillar of support, his guide through darkness, his equal in ideals, intelligence and wit. She is also the mother of his unborn son.
1. Book One: Two Mirrors

_To those who have followed and reviewed and favorite'd, I think you sincerely for all. You have made this hobby of mine mean something._

_Please bear with me for a few days, I am in the process of combining chapters. Because I wrote this in the style of Hugo, all of my chapters are short events. I've reached my document limit, thus I am having to combine two chapters into one. Thanks for your patience!_

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_Authors Note:_

_This is my first foray into fanfic. A healthy mix of both the book and musical, I have written a parallel centering upon the woman who breached the impenetrable walls of Enjolras; the strong woman who completes him._

_Expect stylistic writing like Hugo in places, quotes from the book and musical, along with my own voice and spin. Chapters are added every few days as I finish editing them to my ridiculously high standards (never satisfied)._

_It's important for me to add that once we get to the barricade, I refused to deviate from some of the dialogue Hugo wrote as I parallel some of the most profound moments. Anything that is quoted that is not dialogue, you will find in italics, but the dialogue in a few areas just could be no other way. I have only borrowed this story and hope I have not tarnished the brilliant work Hugo created._

_I would love your feedback, love your PM's, love your favorites and follows. I sincerely hope you enjoy this ride as much as I've enjoyed writing it._

_Thank you._

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**BOOK ONE:**

**TWO MIRRORS**

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_"Woe to the love-affair which should have risked itself beside him . . ."_

The Return of Aurelie to Paris

She could feel him, always.

There was an abrupt halt in Saint Sever, people in the streets inadvertently blocking passage for the many carriages around the one Aurelie rode in. It had been five weeks since Aurelie had been in Paris, and it had taken a week of travel to arrive. She'd been exhausted by the days but unable to sleep at night with her anticipation to return. There were times the hooves could lull her to sleep, but it was when the carriage came to a halt that she awoke, looking through the sea of people.

"Excuse me, Monsieur," Aurelie said, leaning through the front window to address the driver. "What is the hold up here?"

The driver leaned back and turned his head without looking at her, keeping the reigns held loosely in his hands. "It seems there is a rally a few blocks ahead, Mam'selle Beaulieu. We are at a standstill."

It was no longer a mystery as to why she'd felt him now, no longer a dream but a pleasant reality. That, along with a stark realization that this delay was no doubt his handiwork. He'd always been able to stop the world around him, if even just in passing. He could draw the eye and leave the beholder wondering in the next moment exactly what had just happened to them.

When she saw little Gavroche dart past her carriage, she slid to the window on her right and stuck her head out the window, watching him as he weaved through the crowd the way only a street urchin could. Gavroche lived in the Elephant of Bastille along with many other children left either abandoned or orphaned.

She wanted very much to call after the boy, but only caught her voice when he was well out of range. Suddenly her body swelled with the acute need to get out at once.

"The police will be by any time now," she heard the driver call to her, barely catching him over the noise of the crowd. "We will be on our way presently."

"No need," Aurelie said, placing her burgundy hat atop her head and pinning it in place. "You'll take my belongings to rue Saint-Martin: the Café Musain. Ask for Madame Huchloup, they will be safe with her."

"But Mam'selle Beau—"

The driver had been paid for their journey with the money Aurelie still had stashed from her previous life, though she behaved in Paris as though she had none. Still, she drew out her coin purse and handed the driver a few francs so he would not argue.

"From here I will walk," she insisted, then opened the door and dashed out of the carriage.

Anyone leaving a carriage was noticed, as it was only the wealthy who could afford one. Though her parents were dead and their title stripped, her name still held prestige, which was the only reason she would use it in a carriage. It was at home that she used another.

But Aurelie would have gone noticed in a crowd be it exiting a carriage or roaming the streets. A stunningly beautiful woman of twenty years, many believed they were seeing God's angel in human form. Her hair was a yellow that, at times, seemed unnatural with how it shined. Her brows were entirely clever, adept in both deep contemplation and sheer joy, and great misfortune to one she looked upon with disdain. The occasions she had made use of this look could be counted on one hand. Instead she brightened the world around her with lips that turned into the sweetest of smiles; a true smile, never forced. Her skin had the healthy glow of a young woman who knew the secret to a peaceful world and was most certainly in love. She could assume both childlike and womanly posture without ever a change in frame, always carrying herself with great poise. She never slumped, never turned a nose, never tucked a chin. Her frame held the gentility of a woman to soothe a newborn along with the strength enough of a man to strike fear in anyone who dare cross her. She was gentle and capable of being a monster, should the time arise. She would fight for her beliefs if it meant striking a man dead, while still empathetic with the plight of all men in all walks of life. She did not kill spiders that snuck into her room at night, saved earthworms from a downpour. She would kick a cat that chased a living mouse as she would spit at a man who beat a woman. She was not above punching like a man and could easily aim a weapon. She was a contradiction of nature; a benign warrior. Honest at times to a fault, though never to the point of insult. Well-guarded with secrets of her own and of others. Easily able to walk the fine line between an open book and a mystery. Duty to family came before her own happiness, and she would have loved a man she did not love if necessary. But in her happiness shined a light more powerful than the sun. Having been unable to attend university, she studied harder than any student paying tuition, and things that came easy to them came even easier to her. She was passionate about passion, and those who had a passion for any topic she would indulge with her own passion, making her well-loved for her brains, beauty, strength and honor.

In summation, Aurelie was perfectly unique with every virtue a woman or man can possess.

Aurelie paid no attention to those who gawked at her; those who hated the wealthy for the oppression upon poor. She was one of them now, and had always been in her heart and soul. And she did not look back at the carriage, paid no mind if her belongings were poached. She'd never taken issue to those who took, as they needed what they could to survive in this wretched world.

Following the steps of Gavroche, though quite far behind, she made her way up the street until General Lamarque's residence was in sight. She'd heard word of his illness, and before leaving her brother, they had discussed at length what this would mean. He was quite upset he could not join her, but there was no other way. Cholera was spreading through the population, and Benoit had been helping their cousins at their farm in Southern France. They were ill there, and while she'd offered to stay longer, she was glad Benoit insisted she return to Paris.

"To be with Enjolras," her brother had said, taking her hand. "He will need you more than me."

"That's not true," she'd argued. "He needs soldiers, not a woman."

"Quite the opposite, my sister," Benoit had replied. "He needs your love. I learned that once he had it, he was lost without it. He has soldiers in abundance, but at the end of the day, there is only you."

He had shut the door to her carriage the following morning and insisted that she stay safe. He'd always been fearful for Aurelie and Enjolras, for love mixed with determination for a larger cause could be a combination that would leave one devastated. But he would not argue against their love, as it was their love that left them unable to survive without the other.

It was only when Aurelie saw Enjolras and Marius on the podium that she halted as though she'd hit a wall. Left with little breath after her jaunt through the masses, it was only he who could take the rest and leave her breathless.

There were few times Enjolras and Marius both dressed in their finest. Both were rich, both had dashing looks and style. But they preferred a night in a humid room with their buttons loose, sweat beading and words inflaming. But these times—visiting their fellow dissenters, proper dinners, attending classes and speaking at rallies—this was when they not only shined with fine clothing, they shined the way men with determination and fierce beliefs shone. It was these occasions that they would button their vests and tie their cravats, adding a jacket of brilliant color so eyes would be drawn. Today, Enjolras wore a maroon jacket festooned with golden buttons over a shiny silk blue vest. Marius wore the reverse.

A rally was taking place in front of General Lamarque's house with people either flocking to or away from the speakers.

"The bourgeois find it necessary for you to be poor, because if you had wealth, you would be their equals. You would have a voice, of which you have none of now. But the masses can cry out louder than the few, and it is time that our voices are heard!"

Marius tacked onto Enjolras' statement:

"Where exactly is our king? Do we see him? We hear him through our papers, and the mouths of the puppets! Has he stepped from the confines of his tower since his election? He refuses to see what is happening below, for if he did, it would haunt his dreams."

"Citizens, only one man has spoken for you!" Enjolras cried, gripping a pamphlet in his hands so tightly that his knuckles went white. He gestured with strength to the building behind. "General Lamarque, the voice of the people! I've heard he will last but a week now, and we must rise to take his place. We will no longer go unheard! Vive la France!"

This chant went echoed, each time with more volume and strength in the numbers. Chin infinitesimally tucked in an amused sort of pride, Aurelie smiled all knowingly without a glance at the others. She was very much one of them, would be no matter how she dressed or what tower she lived in. The only difference was that her circumstance had been a choice made, not forced.

"I never sleep anymore. I spend my entire night making cartridges," one man had told Enjolras.

A worker he'd met at the barriere du Maine had pulled together one hundred and fifty francs just by having each man throw in ten sous, every coin going to making muskets and powder.

The pyre had been built one plan at a time; all the plot needed now was a sign. One spark to stoke the flames, and when Enjolras wasn't out with his lieutenants spreading the word to leaders, he was speaking atop anything he could climb on to get a head taller, addressing the people.

Jaw set in determination, Enjolras halted his chanting and looked over the crowd, nodding to them, giving them his approval with tenacity. Approval from Enjolras was craved by all, and could sustain the weakest for the rest of their lives.

Despite his ability to be terrifying, Enjolras was irresistible in both beauty and personage. A man of twenty-three years who had completed his law degree two years early and still continued to study the art, he was more intelligent than his elderly professors while appearing to be seventeen. His frame was slim, but held the muscle of God's hand. He spoke of the world as if he had experienced every territory on this fine earth, and while he hadn't been far from France, he had been everywhere. All knowing, almighty. His perfection in appearance began with wildly maintained golden curls atop his head and ended with beauty to his little toe. Between you would find a high brow, knowledgeable eyes with the fiery passion of red on his lids, a lower lip that could push forward with disdain. His youth was effective, his mind restless. He could not soak up enough information to ever be content and would die with the answer to the universe while still coaxing a question that would leave scholars stumped over how to respond. He was a soldier, a patriot and a martyr. He lived for the republic and would die lashing out. His wit could sting, his sternness could burn. It was impossible to intimidate him, impossible to win an argument you've won, impossible to love him and impossible to hate him. He maintained a proper distance from individuals while loving the population. Dogmatic, arrogant, confident, unyielding, combative. All of these things and still men and women alike were desperate to hear but a word from his lips. More feared when he was silent than while speaking, just as a loaded gun is more fearsome than the moment it's fired; there is relief in the firing able to be reconciled. Still, beneath all, he had a heart he dared not show. He despised his greatness and his heart; they both impeded on any chance for a life of normalcy. He was a judge who tried all men and sentenced them as what they were to their fingertips, while still having a heart for all plights. This was a fine man. An achievement of excellence. Unaffected and untouchable. Incomparable and paramount. A wall unable to be breached. Unable to be breached by all but his own reflection.

His mirror was the only human who conquered him.

When his vision locked on Aurelie, he wet his lips with determination, then resumed his chanting with more vigor than before. Perhaps it was his wish to put on a show for her alone, strutting like a peacock for a mate. Maybe it was she who gave him the extra push to fiercely fight. Conceivably it was just as possible that it was done to compensate for any momentary weakness.

It mattered not to Aurelie. If any were the case in equal measure, all three made her equally as happy. All were strength, and Enjolras was the pillar of exactly that. He could easily slide into whatever role placed upon him and have the strength aimed properly. In studies, he was strong. In public, he was strong. In private, he was strong.

He had seen her, she had seen him, and while the world was very wrong, between the two of them it was exactly right. They'd both thought themselves whole until they'd met, then harshly realized they'd never be whole again if not together.

Hidden love does not equate distress. It does not mean a party is embarrassed or ashamed. There is sanctity in secret, and when both parties agree the secret is of value to keep, it can be more momentous between the two than had it been shouted from the rooftops. Their secret was a second thing they could share with only the other, the first being the love itself. Their secret was as intimate as intimacy alone.

They did not need shouts nor whispers to connect here at Saint Sever; eye contact was sufficient, and in these times, every emotion was conveyed with this simple glance. He was thrilled she had returned, she was delighted to be home. She was proud to return finding him exactly as she'd left him, he was elated to see the face he'd missed so much.

There had been little time to think of her, but she was present with every action he made. And at night, while alone, he would set aside time before he slumbered to think only of her, and many nights, without knowing it, she was thinking of him at the very same time.

As the driver had said, the police arrived to break up the rally in the next minute, and people began to scatter. Aurelie dodged away from the horses, grabbing the hand of a woman beside her to pull her to safety as they charged in. Her vision was now obscured, but they were separated often and she could take care of herself. So once the horse was out of the way, she didn't even bother to look for him. It was a time to scatter, not a time to panic.

Panic inflames.

"Thank you, Mademoiselle," the woman said to Aurelie, nearly taking to a bow. She was very poor, her hand had felt bristly in Aurelie's, and she wore clothes that she'd once worn in a sewing shop, but were now covered in dirt. This was a clear sign that she had been dismissed and was likely living on the street.

Aurelie placed a few sous into her palm, then shut it with both hands. "I hope this helps," she said.

"Oh, Mademoiselle," the woman cried in gratitude. "I hope they're right. About changing things for the better."

Smiling, Aurelie replied, "I believe they will."

The woman hurried away. Aurelie's eyes followed her to a building, where two young children had been waiting, and the woman was exclaiming to them over the coins she'd received, then was on her way.

Still, Aurelie was not safe here. Dressed like the poor, she'd have had to fear the police. Be that as it may, she was dressed like the rich in her travelling attire, however worn down it was from the years, and the rich had just as much to fear in a crowd like this. Facing the police was a daily struggle for the poor. Facing the people en masse as it was left her open to be taunted and robbed to the point of violence.

She was very rich. She hid it, even from her brother. But it was there.

* * *

A Brief History through the Eyes of a Child

"Gavroche!" Aurelie called, spotting the tiny boy running with others his age toward Bastille Square. He turned to her, looking down on her with the narrowed eyes of despise, even though he was half her height. She hurried over to him. "It's me, Aurelie."

"Aurelie, looking all fine and proper!" he cried, brows low in disbelief. "When'd you get in?"

"Just now," Aurelie said. She gestured with her head. "Are you willing to be seen with me long enough to escort me to rue Saint-Martin?"

He laughed as though the thought was inconceivable. To this, Aurelie added, "There's a hot supper in it for you."

She needed no escort, only the boy's company on the long walk to the slums of Saint Michel. Little Gavroche was able to slip through shadows. He knew things, noticed things that others did not. He would be her only chance at catching up with the world she'd been away from with the honesty only a child could provide.

"I'll take you up on that, Mam'selle," Gavroche said with a deliberate nod. His friends were calling after him, and he yelled back, "I'll be dining fine tonight, boys!" using his needle-like elbow to jab Aurelie's waist.

Once free of the crowd, their pace slowed, though Gavroche and his boundless energy skated back and forth in front of Aurelie with his arms out like a bird, unwilling to match her stride as he kicked rocks along the pavement.

"I've missed quite a lot," Aurelie said to the back of his head; a dirty dishwater color that was just as soiled. "Yet I return to see what had only just started. Tell me of the world, Monsignor."

Gavroche turned around, laced his fingers with his pointers aimed at her stomach. "You see, it's like this: King Louis-Philippe is being a king, so really no election took place at all, only . . . I'm not sure anyone knew it."

"I knew it," she responded. "When you vote in a chamber, and they vote in a monarch, you receive a monarchy once again."

"Democracy is a farce," Gavroche stated firmly.

"And what of Lamarque?"

"He is dead soon," Gavroche said, his large wide-set eyes up in hers, though not in wonder. Simple fact. "Were you here when the planning began for the barricades?"

"I was not," Aurelie said. "I received a hint at it in a letter, because when talking of an uprising, words cannot be written."

"Who wrote you of it?"

"You know who."

Gavroche narrowed his eyes in what appeared to be annoyance and disgust. "I'll keep that a secret until I die simply because I don't even want to think about it."

Aurelie laughed airily. She shared a secret, but little people are always more perceptive than those older, and he not only had the open mind of a child, he held an old perceptive soul.

"On a change of subject, Enjolras has left his studies," Gavroche told her, not changing the subject at all, just changing direction. "He's called it a leave and is turning his tuition money into our new currency."

"Which is?"

"Munitions," Gavroche said with a wink.

"Ah, of course."

"Can we not run for it?" the boy demanded impatiently.

"Not today, little monsignor," Aurelie said with a soft heart. "What of the others?"

Gavroche sagged his shoulders, but rallied as he turned from her. Found a stone worth kicking. "All the same," he said with his back to her. "I'd say school is out for summer. I prefer my school outside in the daylight instead of holed up behind walls. Don't see why they go at all."

"You will at one point," Aurelie told him wistfully. As a woman, she could not attend university. It had been one of the primary reasons Aurelie had begged her brother to move to Paris, so she could learn through his books instead of his letters. "You know of the street, and you know of the world. But someday you'll want to see the world through the history of others."

Gavroche shrugged. "I see history up close. Who needs the words when I have two eyes in my head."

"Does anyone outside the Les Amis know what's to happen?" Aurelie asked. The entire point of her escort was to get the news, not to argue the merits of higher education. In all honesty, Gavroche had a point well made.

"Anyone worth having knows," Gavroche answered. "They're all over the place, every arrondissement. If you mean the government, I believe that is another safe secret. No one would share anything with them. Even if they did they'd be punished just for knowing of it."

"It seems to me that trust is one-fold only," Aurelie agreed. "So with Lamarque ill, has it become better or worse?"

"Little of both," said Gavroche. "Worse with the tension, better from it. Won't be long now. Have you got any bread?"

In the most ladylike way achievable in her long, thick dress, Aurelie kicked out her leg, catching his ankle. He did not falter, only smiled.

"Supper, then," he said, then laughed hysterically. "An escort for you, food for me. Who needs charity?"

"Lot of protecting you're doing," Aurelie said with a grin, noting this at exactly the moment Gavroche found another rock to kick. "Are these rocks a danger?"

"Wouldn't want you to trip, all fine as you are today," he said. Aurelie nodded that this was a proper answer. "Did you always have these clothes?"

"Yes," Aurelie answered. "I had finer, once. You may not know this, but I was one of them."

Gavroche shrugged. "Figured that at some point. Marius too. Takes the rich flipping sides to really know Enjolras is right."

Every choice had been hers to make, but one choice had been forced on Benoit. He'd not allowed her to come live with him while her father was imprisoned. It took his death for Benoit to concede, as she had nowhere else to go but her cousin's farm. It was funny the tradeoff that had happened; Benoit had not forced his sister to live on a farm, yet had ended up stuck doing his duty for what family they had left when needed. But they were always very ill, he was a doctor, and had the physical strength to work the farm while they were fighting their weak immune systems with every coming cold.

So it wasn't exactly a flip of sides; it had been a choice. The distinction was that it was impossible for Aurelie to flip when she'd had it in her to be one of them all along. It had been her father's dissent from the government that had imprisoned him, and had he lived a few more months, he would have been free after the election. Under the guise that there was freedom, which only lasted a few months before power once again corrupted.

"Tell me about the days, Gavroche," Aurelie ordered.

"Well spent," Gavroche nodded firmly. "If it's not a day of travel to light a fire in other men, it's a day learning of the governments moves."

"And the nights?"

"Well spent," Gavroche repeated. "They drink, gamble and argue. I point and laugh."

"And the hours between?"

Gavroche slumped a little.

"Cold."

Aurelie's heart ached for the smart little man. They'd all offered a bed at some point; it was only on rare occasions Gavroche would take up Courfeyrac's spare room. Some part of Courfeyrac had a larger heart for Gavroche, and the only whisper she'd heard of it had said Courfeyrac had lost his brother a few years back. He would have been Gavroche's age, and so they'd found a brother in each other.

"Life in an elephant must be very strange," Aurelie said instead of offering up a room for the umpteenth time. He'd always declined, and would continue to do so. The street urchin had a sense of pride that was unheard of in orphans his age.

"It does me just fine," Gavroche stated. "I've caught you up, the rest you can hear from the man himself. Can we not run now?"

"You've done your duty well, little monsignor," Aurelie assented. "I'm caught up. Now let me catch up with you."

With this, Gavroche ran down the block. He'd pause to wait because he was honoring the trade, but the second she reached him, he was off again.


	2. Book Two: Death of the People's Voice

**BOOK TWO:**

**Death of the People's Voice**

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Bait and Switch

Enjolras leaned against the brick of Aurelie's apartment building. There had been no chance of looking after her at the rally today as he should have when he'd found she was there, but he did not fear for her. She was a force to be reckoned with when she wanted to be, without a doubt his equal. While he'd had to run as to not be nagged by the police, he knew very well that it was only a matter of time before she returned home.

But he _had_ expected her to come in her carriage rather than having little Gavroche skip in circles around her as they turned the corner from Rue du Mont Saint-Michel. And the second he saw her, he turned away as to not appear as though he'd been looking.

"Here we are, safe and sound," Gavroche said to Enjolras once in front of him. Aurelie did little more than raise a brow at Enjolras. "Now, about supper."

"I keep my promises, Monsignor," Aurelie said, then looked at Enjolras as though it were any other day, and they were not very much in love, and she did not feel a need to embrace him for the next five weeks to make up for the last. "Would you like to join us, Monsieur?"

"I'm waiting for Marius," Enjolras said, nodding up at her building, saying this as though it were any other day and they were not very much in love, and he did not feel a need to embrace her for the next five weeks to make up for the last. "It's good to see you home, Aurelie. How is your brother?"

"I'm quite hungry."

Aurelie laughed at Gavroche, looking at him endearingly. "Benoit is well," she answered. "He sends his deep regrets that he cannot be here with you, as you know he would be with what is to come."

"I've never once doubted him," Enjolras responded. "You can write to him the regret is shared. And we have a meeting presently, so perhaps you can let me in to break down Marius' door?"

Aurelie opened the door to her building, which was held in turn by Enjolras to let her pass.

"And supper?" Gavroche cried.

"I'll be down in minutes for our date," Aurelie promised, then held the sides of her skirt out. "I just need a change of attire, as I know it's been very hard for you to be seen with me in this."

"A coin and I'll meet you?"

Enjolras looked sternly at the young one. "Patience, Gavroche. If she's not out by the time I am with Monsieur Marius, I will pay her debt."

The second the door had closed behind them, Enjolras grabbed Aurelie's hand and pulled her close. "Not much I can do with this hat of yours," he whispered, tipping it to the side. "But I honestly have no idea where Marius is, and at this moment, I don't care."

Biting her lip in glee, Aurelie released herself from his hold and ran up the stairs. She was glad she'd saved the little energy she had after travelling so they could now hurry to her room.

Just as Aurelie had reached up to take off her burgundy hat, Enjolras snagged her hand, the door now closed and in the privacy of her room. She turned to him as he diligently set to work locating her hatpin, him preferring an element of control; something she gave permission of and only allowed to him. Once it had been fingered, he removed it and set it down with the hat on her little dresser.

He cradled her face a second later.

"I know there are times you think I don't miss you, but I assure you: I missed you very much," he said. Taking one hand to her thin waist, he gently pulled her close and laid the sweetest kiss on her lips.

It had been said by women and men alike that Enjolras' lips had touched nothing but food or drink, but she knew better. Somehow his breath was always sweet, a treat when she considered the many men she'd serve drinks to at Café Musain where she strived to earn her coins instead of relying on those stashed away. Even his mouth defied all logic; his teeth straight and white, his lips soft in a hard world. Oh, how she'd missed the taste of them, craved it nightly as she'd lay awake in her bed and pray for his safety.

They swiftly turned from delicate to reckless in their kiss, and Aurelie wasn't exactly sure if she could contain herself. It was only when she realized he'd backed her against the wall, which had gone unnoticed for at least a minute before it struck her, that she finally laid her hand on his chest and gently pushed him away.

"You have your meeting, I have my date," Aurelie said, deftly releasing herself from the wall, having to duck under his arm where he'd planted his hand against the boards. "But you were missed passionately, my love. And we'll discuss how much later tonight."

These were the words of a strong woman who felt no need to hide the wickedest of thoughts, and Enjolras greatly respected that she didn't mince words in the way so many girls would around him.

Alone, they didn't need to mince words at all. Six months after she'd moved here, they'd kneeled in a church to swear their love and allegiance, offer the other vows to love and to hold. This was done between them and only to the ears of God. But it was a marriage, and a marriage that had been consummated that night with great flair.

"You're going to send me to a talk of war with that?" Enjolras asked, gaping at her. "Your cruelty astounds me."

Aurelie smiled at herself in the mirror as she removed her jacket. She could keep her chemise as is, though desperately wanted to bathe. Unfortunately, little Gavroche was waiting below. Retrieving one of her well-worn corsets and a skirt, she began to dress.

"It'll give you a reason to return quickly," Aurelie said, fastening her clothes.

Aurelie had a secret of her own she felt necessary to share tonight, though she feared his reaction. She'd spent much of her time at the farm debating on when she would tell him that she had not bled for three months and had been too guarded to bring it to her brother. It was the first time in her life she felt any sort of fear, and it was easy to assume Enjolras would not take it well.

He lived for a purpose, and one purpose only. That purpose was not to love her, though he did. She was not so naïve to think this meant they would run from Paris and live happily in the country away from the discontent, and she would have it no other way. The debate was if she'd tell him at all. From what she'd heard, his war was on the horizon. And there was an urge to wait until they knew the outcome of it all before he got any ideas of what was proper. Enjolras was not meant to lead an ordinary life of a family man.

Once dressed, Aurelie kissed Enjolras once more. "I think it's better that I leave first, since you will have no Monsieur Marius trailing you after allegedly breaking through his door. I'll be off with Gavroche."

"And I'll be on the second floor above you," Enjolras said, then smiled with a different excitement. "We're very close to the beginning, Aurelie."

Aurelie nodded, didn't allow him to catch her frown. "Or the end," she said, tapping the knob a few times before opening the door and exiting her room.

The tavern was loud already with drunkards, not atypical for the Café Musain. In the evening, coins that had been begged or stolen were spent here by anyone who lived in Saint-Michel, be it in a house, apartment or on the street.

After locating the Widow Huchloup, Aurelie was shown that her bags were in the back as the driver had promised, and she could retrieve them after her supper.

Everyone knew what went on above their heads; that the Les Amis de l'ABC were plotting attacks and making munitions. Everyone was fearful. Everyone was ready. Those below would pray for the delivery of a new dawn by the hands of those above, though feared for the lives of their friends. This left the tone of the tavern both joyous and somber at once. Happy to be eating, happy to be drinking, happy for the potential of a day when they had a warmer bed and more of what they currently indulged in.

Somber due to the looming inevitable.

Gavroche made Aurelie pay through the nose for his hard work of kicking stones out of her path, ordering soup, chicken, bread and collard greens, a piece of white cake for desert. The Widow Huchloup balked when he tried to order a glass of wine, but Aurelie eyed the woman in a way that plainly stated: What does he have to live for? So a second glass was brought out and Aurelie poured him a few sips.

When their dinner had been cleared, Aurelie asked what he would do with his evening.

"Suppose I'll go rub my full belly in their faces at the elephant," Gavroche said proudly.

"Can I not escort you home?"

"That would counteract my good service."

"Off with you, then," Aurelie said, shooing him away. She had always felt an urge to beg him to be safe, and now that she had her own growing child, maternal instincts were nagging at her. But these sorts of words would offend Gavroche, so she left it at that and watched the little one run from the café.

There was a brief moment Aurelie spent looking up at the ceiling before she rose. There were times women were up there, however rare, and this was not one of them. She could hear the volume, though only over more volume around her. It was only from her window she could make out their words, and as not to disturb them tonight, she went to retrieve her belongings so she could escape to her room across the street.

On her way out the door, Marius rushed by, but hesitated when he saw her face. He nodded at her with an apprehensive smile. "Pardon, Aurelie. Glad to see you back!"

He was once again in motion and up the stairs.

Once Maryse had helped her with her cases to her room, she was left alone to spy through her window. The most secret of meetings took place in Les Halles, but the café was the heart of Saint-Michel, and when all was said and done, it would be here that the war would begin. Her window was directly across from the front window on the second story of the tavern, and with the shutters flung open to let out the heat, it would be effortless to hear what they had to say tonight.

This was not unusual behavior for Aurelie, but it was generally done for a minute or two before losing interest; only to catch a glimpse of her love and say good night to the stars before she slept. Tonight she didn't want to take her eyes off of him after her absence, but with the tensions as high as they were, she was acutely interested in what he was planning with his lieutenants.

It was not as though Enjolras hid anything; it was quite the opposite, he was often too free with his opinions and plans to the point of hours of rhetoric. But it's important to understand that his behavior with his lieutenants was intimate in another way, and Aurelie found it necessary to see him through the eyes of others so she would not be so blinded by her love as to point out any flaws or offer unwarranted accolades.

Opening her window, the noise from the bottom floor was insignificant background to what was taking place across the way, and placing her elbows on the frame, she could see the picture as an outside observer the way only a bird can view the world below.

Enjolras leaned over a map with Courfeyrac at his left, Prouvaire flanking his right. He was casual now in his habitat, cravat left untied with his top two buttons undone. His blue striped vest was fully buttoned, a compliment to his blond curls. It was muggy, and the candles left him with a gleam across his brow as he diligently studied, lips in a defined frown of determination.

His hand covered a pistol beside the map.

But his whispers were unable to reach Aurelie's ears; it was the grossly audacious behavior behind them that drowned him out, however nearer to the window they were.

Bossuet good humoredly elbowed Marius, who was spotted with color. "You're in a daze, my friend! You look as though you've just encountered a ghost! Get some wine, and get it before Grantaire drinks us dry!"

If Enjolras was bothered by his drunken friends, he gave no sign of it, continuing to quietly discuss. Aurelie wished they'd just shut up back there, she wanted very badly to get a picture of what she'd missed, hear their destinations around Paris and exactly what for.

"It was precisely as you say!" Marius cried, a goblet in his hand as Grantaire sloshed wine over it. Aurelie doubted a drop had made it inside. "A girl today, after the rally. I was passing through the market. I'm not sure if she was there or if she was just an apparition!"

"Marius, actually in love?" Bossuet announced loudly, then took a large gulp of his drink. His bald head was slick with the humidity, juxtaposing the youth of a man aged twenty-five with the knowledge of a man near death. "Are you sure she's not just another for you to tease and flirt with?"

Aurelie's interested had been piqued; Marius was very similar to Enjolras in one way only: they both had women swooning at their heels as they walked onward, unaffected. Their only difference in this was that Marius teased back, Enjolras' heart already dedicated to another.

Marius had joined the picture late, as he'd done tonight. The night he'd been introduced at the tavern in Les Halles, Enjolras had come home fuming in a different way. A sarcastic way, a mocking way, and an angry way. They had hated each other. As Aurelie'd heard it told, Marius had taken one look at Enjolras and decided to espouse his views on Napoléon, and with only a look back from Enjolras, Marius had become fueled with rage. Enjolras could have that effect with his looks of disdain. What followed after this tirade was Combeferre's well put point in three little words, enough to silence Marius. It's clever when you can win and be succinct at the same time, the victory sweet. And Enjolras was able to sink the ship with six.

Quite a picture to look at, Marius was attractive in a darker sense than Enjolras with his deep brown hair and even larger brows. But he shed a different sort of light with his naiveté, while still believing his views of the world justified. Every word he spoke was a reworded and revised statement from the lips of his family. This was not to say he was inaccurate, as no one is wrong with opinions, but rather a sponge. He believed in things so strongly that he would be outraged over a challenge, only because he didn't have the capability to back up his words. He had dates in history, which was prized with the Les Amis, and could tell the stories, but when presented with a different outlook, he had a hard time wrapping his head around it. Despite this picture painting him as weak, he was not. He'd been toyed with in his twenty years, tossed between family members with lies to the point where he could not believe anything, while at the same time, had no other option than to trust them all. His father, who had fought at Waterloo which was, perhaps, the reason Marius was so attached to Napoleon, had been forced out of his life. It was only upon knowing him again that Marius gained substance, and thus he ran from his wealth and descended into poverty. This was Marius' great strength. No member of the Les Amis de l'ABC had ever made such a sacrifice; they worked for what they owned but did not disavow what they had, and it was this that had sealed his position.

What subsequently happened between Enjolras and Marius was the obvious step. Marius hated Enjolras to the point of passion, despite all differences, and from this hate he had become intrigued. He wanted to learn what Enjolras had that set him aflame, and once he did, he grew to deeply respect him as much as any other. From their vast differences: Marius' naïve affection, Enjolras' reserved militancy, a friendship was struck that is not dissimilar to the one between Enjolras and Grantaire, which will be delved into in due time. What each lacked completed the other.

"No, this girl is different," Marius told him, and he'd now drawn a small crowd, which made his voice carry despite saying this with more reserve. "She was beautiful: Golden hair with a halo surrounding her head in the form of a hat."

"Sounds like any other girl," Fueilly said, then slumped down in a chair so Aurelie could no longer see him.

"Look at yourself, Enjolras!" Grantaire yelled across the room.

She only saw Enjolras' jaw set with more determination as he sighed, bothered to be bothered.

But Grantaire liked to bait, always craving Enjolras' eye. There were reasons that were less of a secret than the love shared between she and him, simply speculation from a very few. But those few knew of secrets. Those few had secrets of their own, and Aurelie was lumped into that category. She could see a secret in the way one looks at another, and in his eyes, she'd always seen the lingering looks of longing Grantaire aimed at Enjolras.

She had never brought this to Enjolras' attention, and as unaffected as he was by everyone but her, there was no doubt in her mind that these gazes went unnoticed. Enjolras only understood the love in his eyes, not the love in the eyes of those he surrounded himself with.

"Enjolras," Grantaire cried with more volume, demanding his attention. "You're over there talking of battles while your friend Marius comes in late talking of women!"

Enjolras finally turned to look at them, sliding a hand into the pocket of his trousers, and in that exact second, Grantaire played as though he'd said nothing and looked away, turning his attention back to Marius. "A regular Don Juan, you are," he said to Marius, and the room was silenced, all attention having been drawn after Grantaire's demand for it.

"Not this time," Marius said as his face flushed with more color than before. "I'll speak freely of love, as that is quite what I felt today, and I am not ashamed. Only ashamed of my behavior until I saw her."

"I still say she's any other girl," Fueilly repeated.

"I must agree," Bossuet cried while laughing at the man who teased and flirted just as much as he. "And if she's not, forget about her and find yourself some mistresses to compensate as I've done to counterbalance the sting of the woman I'll never have. Love is wasted on men like us."

It was no secret that Bossuet had fallen in love with Aurelie the night they met, as he'd announced it repeatedly in toasts and jokes. She was grateful that Bossuet never took it to a level beyond flirting so she could flirt back instead of breaking his heart.

Enjolras was not amused. He never was when it came to Bossuet's comments about and to Aurelie. Aurelie could do nothing but chuckle at how ridiculously obvious he was in these moments, yet only she would know it.

But his annoyance was more than just Bossuet's comment. Aurelie had seen that face, rarely used in her direction and only when he was demanding that she be serious when she'd tease him.

"This sort of drama is better than an opera!" Grantaire announced, circling his shoulders dramatically as though he had taken to the stage. He then began to croon the tones from Don Giovanni, though the lyrics were in French and not Italian, and they were all a mockery of Marius in love.

It was this and the raucous laughter that set Enjolras in motion, however calmly. He raged at no one, and because of this, his words could sting worse than any curse given.

When Enjolras sat down, Grantaire instantly shut his mouth by bringing a bottle to his lips, taking a large swig while locking his eyes on Enjolras. He'd caught the fish with his bait, and was not above using any sort of chum to get the attention of the man he loved.

"Listen to me, Marius," Enjolras said, though his volume was directed at all, Marius simply an example of the scolding they'd receive if they behaved as Marius was now: late and distracted. "This is the moment for us all to decide who we are. Define ourselves, and define well, for there is no time for us to be playing games now. If you end up late because of a woman, you are a distraction."

Aurelie could not help but audibly snort over this, as Enjolras had done exactly that tonight, late to his own meeting to remain locked in her lips. Secrets were abundant, but this was the first time she'd heard him be a straight hypocrite. And it amused her.

"You can sing of operas and tell their stories, but people have to fight for a right to be there," Enjolras said. "Perhaps you, Monsieur Marius, do not have to, and if you wish to return to your life of operas and orchestrations, by all means, don't let me stop you. We all choose our paths here. Combeferre—" Enjolras pointed at the man leaning against the bar. "A man with passion for life who will heal our wounded when the time comes. Grantaire—" he eyed Grantaire gravely, jaw set "—will likely fall asleep with drink while we fight."

Right as he was, Aurelie felt the jab unnecessary. Grantaire took another gulp from his bottle, needing the drink to erase the comment.

"The cost of our night to the opera is our blood, not your wealth, Marius. Red necessary to bring in a new dawn. With the red of our blood, we can put an end to the black night we live in. If you do not see this, Marius, you should find your ghost and live a happy life, no matter how the world around you suffers."

Marius was quite embarrassed, Aurelie noticed, and Grantaire had misdirected the target onto an innocent party. It wasn't fair or right. And Enjolras rose despite it, having said his piece.

But he was caught on his way up as Marius stood and grabbed his arm.

"If you'd seen her today, you'd know how it feels," Marius said, leaning in close to Enjolras. Aurelie believed it was so no one could hear as these words were hissed, but in the silence, they reached even her ears across the street. And the reception poor Marius received was an eye roll. Still, he marched on, determined to make Enjolras understand. "This woman has the power to leave one breathless. You may not understand, but she would have forced you to with her eyes, no words exchanged. You'd understand how your world can change in a burst of light. Tell me you've never felt a distraction of love, Enjolras!"

Enjolras narrowed his eyes in disbelief, glaring at all, and this was done because he could not answer that truthfully. He was overcompensating in his silence.

"Tell him, Marius!" Grantaire yelled, his smile deliciously wicked. "Tell him what red really is!"

Enjolras looked around the room as though they'd all gone mad.

Marius strongly responded to this with, "It may be our blood; the blood of angry men. But it is also a color of desire, Enjolras!"

"And what is black, Marius?" Grantaire hollered, aiming his daring, wide eyes at Enjolras.

"A world without love!" Marius said, clutching Enjolras' arm. "The despair of it. Why do people continue on in this bleak world, despite their hunger and pain? For love, Enjolras. They live another day for love, nothing more."

Stunned and angered as he was, Enjolras rallied, however harshly. "You are no longer a child," he said emphatically. But his tone transitioned into determination, and softened as he tried to get through to Marius. "This is all well-meant, but our lives have a higher call than love. Those people—us—we can live in love, but is it right? Love may be enough for another day, but another day starving and dying on the streets is still not worth living. Who cares about your lonely soul when your life alone can give a soul to the thousands here now and the millions to come. Our little lives don't count at all."

Angry now, Aurelie had heard enough. This was not what she'd hoped for; seeing Enjolras scold his closest friend over the very sin he himself was committing. Enjolras was steadfast, and was clearly fearful that Marius was losing his dedication. All that kept her here now was watching a loose cannon firing away, leaving her unable to turn as it wreaked havoc, and she stayed only so she could hold his words over him tonight, make him answer to her for what he'd said.

"He's right," Courfeyrac said, and Enjolras' rally had been successful. "If you cannot keep your focus, we are all lost."

"We may have our mistresses," Bossuet added, and raised his glass to the others who agreed and laughed, which lightened the mood, however small. "I'm the guiltiest of them all. But there is a war to fight and I can put aside my little madams."

Fueilly: "Our blood is the cost of a new dawn for this world."

Combeferre: "We must be willing to shed a little for those who cannot continue on as they do."

To each, Enjolras nodded firmly. He'd won a small battle here, and upon looking at Marius, Aurelie saw his dejected acceptance of all the words spoken.

That was when Aurelie's forehead fell to her palms.

* * *

Gavroche Knows All Things of Importance

Little Gavroche was barely seen as he ran through the shadows of the street. It was only when he reached the light of the Café Musain that Aurelie caught his tiny frame. The boy should be sleeping by now, as it was quite late. For him to run at a pace faster than his boundless energy meant something serious had transpired, and it took this for Aurelie to finally remove her head from her hands.

Enjolras had taken to his map with more vigor than before, and this time, had Marius at his right as he vehemently pointed.

Bossuet was teasing Joly over imaginary white spots on his tongue.

Feuilly was mumbling words of Poland to no one.

Grantaire was losing consciousness in the back of the room, drowning out the attention lost and what had become of it.

This was a necessity of life for Grantaire. To live without a haze only proved how sad and miserable he was; it was the haze that brought the light, not the other way around. The light without the haze was simply too bright for Grantaire, in which we mean Enjolras was too sublime for Grantaire to handle without a dimmer. The world without Enjolras was too bleak. Grantaire was the direct opposition to Enjolras in every way; an ugly man with a wide head of brown hair that sloped into a triangle, ending at a pointed chin. He had an interest in not taking an interest, which was obvious to all with his appearance alone; rarely shaven, improperly dressed, posture lax. The only reason he ever spent time with the Les Amis was to taunt and bait them, and he would not have even bothered showing up if Enjolras was not present. To be blunt, Grantaire was a little bit in love with the man to the point of fanatical. Because Grantaire lacked character, he found the epitome of his opposite, a counterweight to his apathy. And with any attention he could garner from the man he loved and venerated, Grantaire became more than a lump of flesh. Scolded incessantly, and rather cruelly, by Enjolras for his lack of discipline and character gave him the reason to live and the reason to hide. He did this by burying himself in the breasts of women who could find no one better, and with this he felt he was able to prove how desirable he was. Perhaps enough to will the one he desired to desire him in return. But as everything, there was no hope in anything for Grantaire, and while he liked to think that someday an antic would amuse Enjolras to the point of more than endearment, he knew the impossibility of it all. So to drink he would turn and anything else for a distraction while remaining a distraction to the man he loved. The man who was his direct opposite.

Grantaire was the dark side of the moon.

Still standing at the window, Aurelie had no idea how little Gavroche's weight was able to stomp up their stairs so prominently, but she could hear it over the ruckus on both floors. Indeed, there was news to be delivered of great importance, and Aurelie felt the unease spread through her limbs.

"Everybody!" Gavroche cried, now atop the stairs.

Even though the room was quieter than before, everyone now treading lightly, he went ignored and unnoticed. Enjolras was immersed in his discussion. It was only Courfeyrac who looked up from the map and saw Gavroche at the top of the stairs.

He rushed over and bent his head down to Gavroche. The reaction given by Courfeyrac magnified Aurelie's agitation.

After a loud whistle that managed to catch everyone's eye, Courfeyrac said, "Gavroche has news of importance for us."

However excited he was to bring the older boys news, Gavroche looked as though he'd seen the pits of hell. Wide-eyed, his mouth slightly agape, he said:

"General Lamarque is dead."

All went still.

Aurelie's eyes rested on Enjolras, and him alone. Others around him were looking from face to face, but it was Enjolras who led this party, and it was Enjolras who decided how they would all react to this news.

"And you heard of this how?" Enjolras aimed.

"On my way to bed, Monsieur," he said. "I hear everything, even the men who whispered this in the shadows below his house."

"I wouldn't call his residence on your way, little man," Enjolras said.

"It is on my way when I skip circles around Paris before I sleep," Gavroche told him with a sneer.

"Lamarque," Enjolras said under his breath, then wet his lips; an unconscious act that was always a tell of growing determination. She knew . . . she knew he was weakened by this news. She also knew this moment of weakness would transition into fierce strength to compensate. "The only man who spoke for the people. When our voices would fall on deaf ears, it was only in Lamarque that the masses were heard, and barely even then."

This was said as tribute, not as action. What followed were orders.

"This . . ." he said, then knocked his hand on the table. "This is the sign. This is what puts our movement in motion. Great men will rise to take his place from here, and we will let it be known to the world on his funeral day. In honor of his name, we will take to the streets at his cortege."

The speed of his words were picking up pace. All Aurelie could do was stand still, stunned by the news. There were many times she wished she could hold his hand and join his voice with courage, make the people rally behind them together. This was the first time she'd nearly taken to a run for it, and had to put a conscious effort into locking her feet in place so she didn't head to the tavern to help, offering her full support.

But fear was present. The sadness would come later, the grief that their only hope in government had been taken too soon by cholera. Right now, however, she allowed a moment of dread. They were now days away from a new revolution and many would be lost. And as she watched Enjolras pick up the pace with his words until they were hardly distinguishable in his provocation, she realized their timing was off. She'd been ready to fight beside him, hand in hand, for as long as she could remember. But with a child coming, together they had a greater purpose.

She knew he would fight, she knew she could not, and she hated both equally.

"We will do this without doubt in our hearts, make the people unite as one voice above all. All who stand at the street to watch his cortege will be there to honor him; they share our ideology, and it will be the largest rally we could hope for! From there, we will take to our plans, raise our barricades."

He pointed with vigor at his map, addressing everyone. "We know our plans inside and out. The barricade our rampart, here, here and here. The largest out front on rue Saint-Martin, the others at rue de la Chanvrerie and Mondetour Alley. Our fortress: this very tavern. At the cortege, Marius and I will give the sign and wave our banner beside his hearse. From there, once the people are one, we rush to our redoubt. Construction will be easy, everyone will pitch in."

"And of the next few days?" Fueilly asked.

Courfeyrac responded, who had hurried over to the map: "We spread. Polytechnic, La Glaciere, Picpus. The masons at the lodge in the rue de Grenelle-Saint-Honore have been waiting on us to make a decision."

"I'll make the assignations tonight and we will meet come dawn," Enjolras said with a firm nod. "For now, let us rest. We will need all our energy."

"Lamarque would be unhappy to have missed this," Bossuet said, then raised his glass. "Let us toast him here, and in honor of his death, we swear here and now to continue his fight."

The toast was given full attention with determination and mourning.


	3. Book Three: Breath of Life

**BOOK THREE:**

**BREATH OF LIFE**

* * *

When Lovers Take to Battle

Aurelie left her window open to stem off the humid night. She was diligent and slow in dressing into a night gown, and did not believe for a second that Enjolras would return to her this evening. She looked over at her lantern, saw that within no more than a half hour it would flicker out on its own with the last drops of oil, and decided to let the background of the tavern lull her to sleep.

Enjolras won the race against the flame and knocked on her door just as the light was about to expire.

There was little more she wanted than to sleep, and all of those things had Enjolras' name tacked onto them. Telling him he was callous in the tavern was all inclusive with telling him she loved him.

"Yes?"

"It's Enjolras," he responded softly. Outside of her door, he leaned his forehead against the wood, lethargic and longing. With the news that they were now underway, he'd need every spare minute he had to spend with her.

With this news, he'd also been struck with the realization that he'd never spent enough time with her, and with him willingly offering his blood up for a republic, he damned himself for being unwilling to offer her the life she deserved. For being too selfish to allow her a life with someone else.

At this same time, Aurelie struggled with her indignation; could not decide if she should just pretend she'd never answered his knock or if he should be locked in her room until all was safe below.

A war raged on inside both.

"Yes," responded a reluctant Aurelie. She shook her head to wakefulness and rose from her bed, unlatched the door.

Enjolras palmed the knob and gave it a turn, holding his breath. His heart was in the wrong place, and still it was exactly as it should be.

As was to be expected, she took his breath away. It angered him at times that he could be so weak and leave behind his purpose, but she managed to have that effect on him, a betrayal to his brain. And the second she was in eyesight, Enjolras could not help but seize her head in his hands and kiss her deeply. It was all catching up.

What was catching up? What this would mean for them, how they would handle themselves once it was in motion, and how they would address one another now.

"It's not that I forget how beautiful you are," Enjolras breathed, his forehead pressed to hers. His forehead was slick and his sweat at the roots of his blond curls was noted. She liked this proof that he'd been hard at work. "It's seeing your beauty that makes me lose all control."

"I know how you feel about control," Aurelie responded. "There's nothing you like less than losing it, nothing I like more than when you have."

His laugh was through his breath as he smiled, taking her lips once more.

Once their hypnotic reception ebbed, Enjolras removed his cravat and laid it on a chair. His vest followed.

"General Lamarque has passed."

Sitting down on her bed, Aurelie worked a match onto a new cask of fuel. "I know," she said, placing the glass lantern over it and turning the screw to allow the wick to absorb the oil.

Untying his shoes, he paused. "You do?"

"Gavroche is quite a yeller."

Enjolras chuckled. "Indeed he is," he said, finishing with his laces. "He was the best of us. Had turned his back after fighting for Napoleon, realized the caste system is broken, finally understanding how the people suffer. He was our true leader, and it's time to rip apart the dictatorship in our gove—

"It's not a dictatorship."

"No, it's a monarchy. The vote was the con. That is what makes it a dictatorship, returning us to where we started."

"Democracy is a farce," Aurelie said, repeating Gavroche's wise words. For now, she was surrendering to him. This was her night: a discussion of politics and her words of anger to follow. Perhaps they'd reconcile long enough to talk of love before they hit the point of exhaustion where they couldn't form words. But with Lamarque's death, she would not steal his thunderstorm just yet.

Battles must be chosen and the timing must be right. In war, and in love.

"Amazing how the monarchy continued under the guise of choice," Enjolras marveled. Indeed, he was still atop his podium, his brain firing too quickly to maintain. "We are to blame."

"No, the bourgeois are, along with those who stir the political pot with their wealth."

Enjolras remained on the chair, completely forgetting that he'd mostly undressed save for his linen shirt and trousers. He admired that Aurelie felt as passionately as he, loved her all the more for it. He may have fallen in love with her the second he'd met her eyes, but it was her personage that had reaffirmed his choice.

"If asked, they would tell you the war is over," Enjolras stated. "They would admit a former failure openly while acting accordingly in the footsteps of their predecessors under false pretenses. This is the con! With the false admission of their guilt, they convince the people that they won the revolution when the war rages on. If we don't put a stop to it, those who died thirty years ago have died for nothing."

Crossing her ankles, Aurelie brought her feet up and leaned on one arm. "With the loss of Lamarque, there is no longer hope in our government, so it's time for the people to rise once more and make their voices heard."

He did not know she was indulging him, repeating words that had been spoken over and over and over again. He never grew tired of this conversation, despite the fact that only the metaphors changed.

"We know who we can count on, and there are enough to stand strong," Enjolras said. "Tonight I'm putting together assignations of who will deliver word that we will begin as a tribute to Lamarque on his funeral day."

Aurelie listened blandly to him as he rattled off the many places throughout Paris he had secured and who would bring the news, mentally compiling the list of his most trusted lieutenants and their relationships with each destination. Who they would trust the most, dependent on their schooling and chosen professions. Every so often she would make a suggestion: that perhaps Joly, also a student of medicine, should visit the depuytrin's clinic instead of Combeferre, since Combeferre had grown up near Palais de Justice, despite his affiliation with Deputrin's as a caregiver. They debated the merits of each, matching personalities to environments, relationships versus birthplace, educates versus laborers.

Another tirade began out of speaking of labor:

_"You must teach the ignorant as much as you can; society is culpable in not providing a free education for all and it must answer for a night which it produces! If the soul is left in darkness, sins will be committed. The guilty one is not he who commits the sin, but he who causes darkness."_

"Yet those educated speak the words of the learned in the past," Aurelie argued, a devil's advocate. "Why should a government who aims to control the caste system and acquire slaves with corruption educate, when those educated turn around to rebel?"

Enjolras smiled at her with great respect and idolatry. "Herein lies the root of the problem," he said, these sort of debates strengthening and bolstering his resolves on what he _knew_ to be true. "The people would discover the errors of the government and how disastrously constrained the world is, and those in power would have none. Those who need power over the people do not care for those who die poor. They answer only to wealth."

"Yet you hold power, and empower all who hear but a word from you," Aurelie noted. "Power for the good, no doubt, but power none the less."

"The difference is that I feel no need to remain in power," Enjolras said with the raise of a clever brow. "In order for the people to have control over their own lives, they need a voice. I'm nothing more than that. I exist to empower all who wish for change, and do not discount any human who wishes . . . No. Who _deserves_ a life with a full belly outside of the slums. A job that doesn't involve begging those with wealth for a pittance. A life condemned to slavery for stealing a loaf of bread. A life without fear."

Aurelie gestured with her head toward the window behind her. "As you know, I'm close enough to hear the noise that carries," she said, delicately broaching the subject of her anger, though with a smooth transition. "Your plans are in motion."

"We have the weaponry in place now," Enjolras agreed gravely. "With the rise of our barricades throughout Paris, we can begin our revolution once more. They have the numbers, but we have the position. These are the ways the people can fight."

Here she would fight for her ally.

* * *

In Firm Defense of Marius

"I also heard that Monsieur Marius is in love," Aurelie said, and her tone implied warning: he must be delicate with his answer.

Enjolras was not delicate.

Instead of understanding why she would bring this up, he rolled his eyes. "He behaves like a child," he snarled. "There is no doubt of his dedication. Well, at least until tonight." He knew that love could tempt; he'd fought love as he'd fight a war of words. He knew it could win in moments of weakness, as was proven to him when he'd nearly lost her, and Marius, intelligent as he was, had more weaknesses than himself. "I cannot stand for him swooning after someone he did not even speak to, especially now. He ran off to find her minutes after we heard Lamarque had passed instead of aiding us in our time."

"And you cannot relate?"

His answers could go one of two ways: the truth or the double standard.

Enjolras felt the fire. "Not in a time like this," he said, the muscles of his face strained. "Not on the eve of Lamarque's death."

"But he did not know of Lamarque's death until after he saw her," Aurelie pointed out, keeping a level head. At least for now. Though she could feel her rage below the surface and had no doubt it would seep its way into her words with time. He'd made his choice to go with the double standard and ignore the truth, and that was a battle worth fighting.

It's worth noting that Enjolras saw her as his equal, had never seen anything less. They would have both earned the love of the other if it had not happened so quickly. Enjolras had always known he was destined to be with her, and while he didn't like to admit it, she had made him a far better man. Enjolras, aware of his greatness and sometimes complaining of it, still never felt worthy of her love.

Be that as it may, he willingly denied the correctness of her baiting.

"Tensions have risen. This is not the time to be playing games."

"And yet you are in my room," Aurelie challenged, though felt the fear of his answer. The fear he may walk from her room and not look back, and with very few days left before the uncertain future, her need to be with him outweighed her anger.

Enjolras only took a split second to think. He would die loving her, and he would not leave tonight. His moments of exhaustion would be spent with her, and not just to reset. They'd be spent with her because he loved her, spent proving his love, and done because he would have little time to think of her outside of her room.

"I met you before we were ready," he conceded. "You were met and loved just after the July Revolution when celebrations were abound, not when everything went sour."

"And do you believe it would have changed had we met later with tensions high?" Aurelie asked, ready to challenge all of this, as poor Marius had felt true love in a glance and was unable to follow through because of his allegiance to Enjolras and their cause.

"It would have never changed," he said surely. "If I saw you for the first time amidst a war, I would have still been so stunned by my love that it could not be argued."

Aurelie smiled. This battle she was already winning, and she knew it as one knows the sun will rise.

"I'm sure you can read my point," she said tartly. "You cannot predict love. It in no way means diminishes his dedication to you. It does not change what he believes. If anything it enhances his belief in a better world, the necessity for a greater future. Does it not?"

Refusing to concede while knowing his war was lost, he fired with what little he had left. "I believed in a better future before you came into my world."

It was at this, at Aurelie turning to fierce anger, that he softened, however reluctantly.

"But yes. In another time, I may have had no reason to fight the government." Crossing to her, he sat beside her on the bed. "In this other time, this other life, perhaps I would have felt free to love you the way a man should. It began that way, you know? Was intended to be that way. When we all thought Louis Philippe would change our country for the better." His nearly imperceptible smile disappeared, and he rose with determination. "But this is not the age, nor day, nor time. This is a time to change this miserable night and allow a new dawn."

Arguments of love were easier when applied to others, though still not what Enjolras wanted to talk about, so Aurelie was careful. But listening to Enjolras from her window had frustrated her. Normally the second floor of Café Musain held intellectual debates, plans of wishful thinking, much drinking and merriness. Also, much worship of Enjolras. But Marius was closer to her due to his closeness with Enjolras, and she'd never expected love from Marius aimed toward anyone. No one would have ever expected it of Enjolras either. And for these reasons, Marius needed an ally.

"You were wrong to scold him," Aurelie said, looking him directly in the eyes with strength and admonishment. He began to protest, but she held a hand up. "I know now the plans are in place. There is a date set: Lamarque's funeral day. It's about to be over, or it's about to begin, I know not which outcome. Let Marius have hope to hold on to, something more than a free world. He is here despite his family, which makes him more dedicated to the cause and more worthy of your respect than what you gave him tonight."

Her final words were spat in her building anger.

Perhaps it was her strength in her anger that made him smile at her. She was unafraid to stand against him when he was in the wrong, and he was seeing this now through her eyes. He wasn't ashamed of how he'd talked to Marius earlier; it had been a necessary evil to be sure his friends remained steadfast. He'd been tame tonight; it was only that the argument was over love and not politics that had Aurelie so fired. He was losing the battle against Aurelie, had his white flag in hand. But he'd won the bigger war, and it was only to Aurelie he would ever consider surrendering to.

But he wasn't there quite yet.

The pause as she watched Enjolras' think—how she could see his brain spinning—forced Aurelie to continue.

"I did not like what you said."

Enjolras raised his brows sardonically.

"Which?"

"Belittling his heart and intentions," she said, then rose from the bed, jutting her finger out to point at him in anger. "You said our little lives don't count."

The shrug that followed was just as belittling. "They don't," he said simply. "What good are we if we cannot create light? If that means our death fighting for what is right, in death our lives have mattered. It is nothing to die—it's what we live for."

"Then live," Aurelie railed, meaning it in a myriad of ways. "I do not care if you live through me, with me, or without me." No, that was far from true. "I rescind that. I care quite a lot, but accept that it's not to be. The time I've had with you has allowed me to live, and if I have more of it, I am the greater for it.

"Live through your purpose, but more importantly, let those around you live," she pleaded, taking back to the bed and lightly touching his arm. "You let Grantaire live through absinthe, however much it bothers you. I realize it's only allowed by you because you find him worthless, but he drinks because of you, you know, and you have pity. But you will not let Marius feel love? Understand this: he will fight with you. No, he will fight _for _you, because he believes in you. For that, he does not deserve to be discounted by an ingrate!"

"An ingrate?" he repeated, eyes wide and rather stunned. "I am grateful for every man in my life." He noticed Aurelie's gaze widen in challenge. "And woman," he added carefully. "I believe in each of them as individuals, and while some may drink themselves into stupors, I do not doubt their belief in me and am grateful for it."

"Then you turn around and believe Marius would leave you, when he is one of the closest you have?"

"Marius _did_ leave," Enjolras responded bitterly.

"But he will be there come morning, just as you will," Aurelie noted. "Tonight is for the individual, because come tomorrow it will be for all."

Warming once more, he brushed his hand through her golden hair. "I can understand because of you, and only because of you," he said softly, then chuckled lightly. "Though only you can know that, as I know you do. I wish all the time it could be different."

"This is the very problem I speak of," Aurelie cried in exasperation. "Enjolras, what I would do for the love Marius finds himself in at times! I realize this has been discussed and we moved on long ago, but when I see a display, I am very sorry, but I cannot help but envy a public happiness over a private one. And as you scold this action, I am stuck days before your barricades questioning which is right and which is wrong!"

"In regards to Marius?" Enjolras asked, aghast.

"In regards to your whispered words for me and your admonishment of him when he shared his love for this girl with you," Aurelie cried, unable to comprehend how Enjolras didn't understand. "He respects you, they all do. I do! We lead a secret life, you and I, and tonight . . . because of an element of fear that this could be the end, I cannot decide which love in these final days holds more power."

Enjolras gaped at her, eyes wide and glossy. How she could question his feelings was beyond him, and yet he knew he was the guilty party. He was who had forced her to question.

"The words were aimed at Grantaire, not at me," Enjolras began.

Aurelie nearly shrieked. "You want to talk of Grantaire now?"

"No," Enjolras said harshly.

Enjolras loved Grantaire very much, but was aloof to the depth. As unaware as Enjolras was of this, she was close to telling him the whole truth of it in her anger. But Enjolras was indeed endeared to the sad man, and it was that reason, and only that reason she wouldn't speak of it.

But oh, how close she had come.

"It's simply that Grantaire brought it up a notch and everyone began to encourage him," Enjolras said, continuing his original train of thought. "It was the only reason I ended up involved at all when I wanted no part in it, and if you want to know which is right, I am here tonight instead of taking to the streets and for only one reason. What I say to Marius is of no consequence while we are all at the eve of a revolution."

"Of no consequence to you, perhaps," Aurelie argued, taking her tone down a notch. After all, she knew how sound could travel. "But it mattered greatly to Marius and—"

"Not enough," he cut in. "He did run off to find this ghost, with Eponine, of all people. And you wonder why I feel he is a child?"

Aurelie was exhausted. "Eponine brings this upon herself," she sighed. "I was saying that it matters to Marius, and it matters to me. When I see you discount someone's love the way you did your friend tonight, I cannot help but have questions."

"I will find him foolish; I believe you would have too had you been in the room tonight with his pathetic swooning," Enjolras said through a long sigh. He was hurting her, he knew it, and with little time left before the unknown, this was not how they should be spending their night.

Or perhaps explaining his love for her was exactly how it should be spent, so she would know its depth if he lost his life.

He gently ran his fingers through her golden hair, inhaled her scent that had been so missed.

"But you're never, ever, to question my love for you, for it runs deeper than my blood and permeates my soul. Perhaps the difference is that I've proven to remain steadfast despite it."

Aurelie sighed under his gentle touch. She laid a hand on his chest, let it rest. "Marius will, too."

She wanted to kiss him, hoped he would. Hoped this would put an end to their discussion, but the hardest part was yet to come. The resolve had not been discussed yet, and it would be the worst, because here, her fear would get the better of her. There was no level head when it came to Enjolras protesting at Lamarque's funeral procession. No level head in regards to a faceoff with the National Guard behind a shoddy barricade of furnishings.

The struggle Aurelie had with this was that, was she not carrying a life inside, this fight would have gone quite differently. It would have been her demanding tasks; locations to visit to rally, her place at the cortege. A musket and munitions. Her demand that she place herself in the front ranks while he held the back to continue to lead.

Now neither of them had the right to die.

And without a kiss, Enjolras rose from the bed, turning his head toward the window. He approached it, looked out at the street. The pavement shined like silver, wet with the pouring rain. He built the barricade in his mind, as he'd done a million times before. He placed himself behind it with his musket and the metal they'd been melting to fashion bullets. He placed Marius there at his side, because he could not fathom leading this without him. Feuilly, Combeferre, Courfeyrac . . .

He then placed the military and cannons down the street.

"The date is set," he said, widening the torn curtain further toward the wall. "We'll know tomorrow when the procession will take place. A week at most. We are ready."

Aurelie felt the tears prick her eyes, though kept her frame strong as though braced for an attack. It was an emotional one, no doubt.

"I am not," she said, then bit her lip as she shirked away from the blow.

Enjolras turned to her, chin low. "I thought you wanted this," he said with disappointment. "A new future."

"I do," Aurelie responded, unwavering. "I always have, you know this. I am not ready for the uncertainty of the outcome. And I am terrified of the cost."

Enjolras felt himself rallying. "Freedom is priceless, regardless of an outcome. The people were able to install a new king two years ago, and though it ended up worse than the last, they were able to rise and accomplish what many said they could not. It was proven once and for all that even ordinary people have extraordinary power in numbers, in their common goal. If this fails, it is still a step in the right direction."

"And the cost," Aurelie prompted again.

"Blood is currency," Enjolras said gravely. "Blood purchases the end of darkness and gives life in hope of those who have spilt it, and those who survive. And it's those who understand the price that are the most grateful for the sacrifice because, in our blood, the world can change."

"I am not ready for spilt blood," Aurelie cried. "Does anyone want to live another day cold? Another day eating stale bread crumbs? I chose this life, as did you; a life with those who need protection, and will never regret my decision! But if it means another day with you—"

Abruptly, she cut herself off. She'd never been weak before and she would not be weak with this. She had to address Enjolras carefully for him to listen, as too much emotion would leave him writing it off. This was not to be taken lightly. She would not allow it.

Enjolras inhaled deeply, exhaled. Repeated. Stared at her with severity. He should never have put her through this. Had he done the right thing, he would have told her he felt nothing so she would not have had to suffer what was to come. He should have sent her away, but he'd been too selfish with the belief that maybe he could have it all: the ability to change the world and retain the love of his life at the end of the day.

"I will try not to die," he said, attempting to add a little dark humor to soothe her pain.

It was clear this was not to work as he saw her chin quiver. It lasted no longer than a split second, but it was there. Dear Aurelie, the epitome of strength and intelligence in a woman, but that did not mean she was unbreakable.

And still she held her frame rigid and unfaltering. "Aurelie," he said levelly. "Every man will try not to die. Some will. I may. We all may." His words were doing little, and it did not go unnoticed. "Let us have faith. Let us have courage and meet this with cheer, as this is what we've lived our lives for. What we've lived to be, and God willing, what we will continue to live long after the barricades."

"There have been times I have feared this, it just went unspoken," she said to him, flinging her hand down and glaring into his eyes. "You talk of meeting it with cheer?! I have the courage you have. The difference is that I can also be crippled at times by my fear for you. How can you talk of welcoming it now when I want nothing more than to delay!"

Frustration was getting the better of Enjolras. He wanted to sooth her fears, but he could not promise an outcome. He'd never been able to offer any promise to her other than his love, a promise well-kept.

"I wish I could give you what you hope for, and I'll pray for it," Enjolras stated. "But this is greater than my life. This is my purpose."

Aurelie forced the bravery. "I'm not sure when I've given you the impression that I thought otherwise," she said. "I have always accepted the inevitable with you, and accept it to this day. But I want you to _feel_, Enjolras! Feel the fear, for it will only make you stronger. It will give you the fight and the will."

Enjolras shook his head. "Strength and courage give me the will to fight, I need not fear facing my foes to feel. Where is the woman who has sworn to pick up a musket if we fight, despite my protests against it? Before you left you told me not to allow it to begin until you'd returned so you could take part! What am I missing here?"

"I have my reasons," she said under her breath.

"Then what has changed? These are not your words."

Aurelie's mouth popped open, hesitated as she looked him in the eyes. The words were there. Words she knew she shouldn't say, not tonight. Not until he'd had his fight, and if he died, he needn't ever know. But it was impossible to choke them back.

Finally, after a long minute, they burst from her mouth despite all effort to choke them back.

* * *

The Gift of Life

"I am pregnant."

Enjolras' world tilted on its axis and time stopped, her words hovering in the air between them. There was no necessity to ask if it was his; he knew with absolution it was, just as he knew she was telling the truth. Aurelie had not allowed more than a kiss until they'd kneeled before each other in an empty church and sworn to God that they would love each other through this life and the next.

He began to deny it internally, realized then that he didn't want to. Found at the same time his perception of life had changed, but his goals were further solidified. He now had more of a reason to find the light in the future for his child to live in democracy, a world he would not have to risk his life in.

And upon hearing these words, he realized he now felt a different presence. The presence of his unborn child that he would feel within proximity, just as he could always feel Aurelie when she was near, always.

Aurelie studied his face, looked for a change. She found none, but knew an internal struggle of some sort was taking place, though what with she knew not. She was wise enough to know he was not considering running off to the country and raise a family. She had stood by him and his philosophies for long enough to know his resolve, and she had always shared it. She was not so naïve as to think they may even hide in the city until all was over, as she would not allow it. The general in Enjolras was too necessary.

It should have gone without saying, and it took her a moment to pinpoint why she'd told him at all; why she hadn't waited a week until they both knew where the world stood after the initial rise of the people. But it dawned on her that she'd told him because she needed him to feel the fear. Not to unburden herself, but to give him more than a new dawn to fight for. She needed him to fight for a future that directly affected him and not just the people as a whole. She needed him to feel that his life mattered as more than a martyr.

They were still in a face off, Aurelie standing at one side of the bed, Enjolras at the other near the window. But they no longer held tension in their frames from their argument. They were now susceptible, and without any sort of defensive posture, this left them open to wounds.

Tentatively, he walked around the bed, needing to be near. He did this slowly, the first time he'd ever felt unsure in his life. It was an emotion he couldn't comprehend, and did not care now to try.

Aurelie watched him without a blink of an eye, a torrent of emotion inside, and at the same time, feeling naked and vulnerable. When he reached her, she watched a deliberate hand slowly inch toward her belly. He placed it over her nightgown and they both looked down at the same time. This was recognition of a truth. This was recognition of love.

"A boy," Aurelie whispered, glancing up at him. "I can feel it."

Enjolras swallowed. A son. He agreed: it was absolutely without a doubt a copy of him melded together with Aurelie. A son he wanted to teach the ways of the world to.

"I can, too," he said quietly. "Honore."

As if his child's name was meant to be nothing else. Honore was the boy's name years ago before the idea of a child had ever struck him. Having a child had never once crossed his mind until now, and here he was as though he'd planned for this his entire life.

Aurelie breathed in deeply. "Yes," she said, placing her hand over his. "We will name him Honore."

She watched him curiously, looking for a change. This went on for a long while before she could no longer bear the silence.

"Does it scare you?" she asked cautiously.

Enjolras was unfamiliar with fear, so he did not know if that was what this was. He'd seen fear, had heard of fear, but never once felt it. Never once felt unsure.

"Is uncertainty fear?"

He glanced up at Aurelie for her response. She slowly nodded. "Yes," she said. "Is that what you feel?"

Shaking his head, he responded, "No. I don't think so." He sorted through his emotion, applying words he knew and finding they did not compare to what he felt. "I'm uncertain, yes, and yet . . . I'm sure. I've never faced— . . . never imagined— . . ." He'd never felt a loss for words, either. "Nothing I've ever done has prepared me for what I feel now."

Aurelie felt a different sort of fear. The fear of an uncertain Enjolras. She wondered if she'd just broken the man she'd fallen in love with. The man everyone he'd ever come into contact with had fallen in love with.

And she knew what needed to be said.

"Enjolras," she said, commanding his eyes. He met hers, and she saw a new depth. She saw fear. "Enjolras, understand that this changes nothing." He did not remove his hand; he instead fell to his knees in prayer. She cradled his face. "You only now understand life in love. But I am clear, and let that assuage your uncertainty. You need not worry for me or get any foolish ideas in your head about a different life that may leave you happy but full of regret."

She did not want to continue, but sometimes words were necessary whether in agreement or not.

"You will lead," she said strongly. "You will lead us all into a new world, only with further purpose. Think of how our child will wake each day with a full stomach from his supper, and it will be because of you. Let this knowledge guide your gun. Let this give you the strength to win. And do not try to live. Just live."

Enjolras nodded, brought his eyes back to her belly where his flesh and blood was forming; a new soul he had a duty to protect from the world. "I will give you the world," he said to the soul, then looked up at Aurelie, the woman who was loved by him more than even he could comprehend. "Know now that I fight for you and our child's life, not just a future of freedom."

His resolve was impossibly stronger than it had ever been as he rose.

"I can only promise you my life and love until my last breath, be that now or in fifty years," he said strongly. "I can promise you that everything I do is done for you now. I believe it always has been; I just didn't realize how much until tonight. And I will protect you as long as I live, as I will our son. I am still ready, and come dawn I have more will than ever to create a new world for all to live in."

Grabbing her head, he pulled her into a deep kiss, full of passion, giving her his life. Forehead against hers, he added, "And I will wed you properly before we begin. Tomorrow. A priest and witness. You will not live another day without a husband who loves and lives for you. Who fights and dies for you."

With these words, with that kiss, Aurelie understood the immense volume of courage. She understood how it felt feeling ready to face their foes with cheer. She knew now that her child needed a new world, and Enjolras was the embodiment of hope; a candle in the darkness.

That night, after hours of expressing their emotional love with love making, Enjolras held her in his arms as though he were Atlas shouldering the globe. Only he felt no weight, no burden. She was the world and he would change it for her.


	4. Book Four: A Curious Girl

**BOOK FOUR:**

**A CURIOUS GIRL**

* * *

Madness Sees the World Accurately

There are things that become so natural over time with routine that they come to be expected, and waking up to the sun alone in bed after a night with Enjolras was one of them. She didn't know if she could recall once in two years the chance to bask in the afterglow of a night well spent in her lover's arms.

She did not believe this was sneaky from the secret; Where Aurelie only needed to work in the afternoons and run her errands, Enjolras always had classes to make and, in more recent months, was meeting with his lieutenants.

So waking up alone was familiar, even if she'd hoped for more after her absence.

It was a tad more melancholy with few days left before he would defend their barricades with his life. Be that as it may, after their argument, sharing the life inside of her had led to the most profound love making she'd ever experienced. They were always lost in each other's eyes, but impossibly it had held more intensity.

Two people mixing their blood to form a new life creates a bond far more powerful than love itself; a new being that is a duplication of the whole they feel coming to fruition in tangible proof.

Sleep had prepared her, though little refreshment came from it. The air was heavy and even her bath achieved nothing more than cleanliness.

But her words to Enjolras as he'd knelt before her last night had come from the heart; she believed them to be true with more conviction than she'd felt in her life.

At least today she would be working through the evening, so her thoughts would orbit something other than impending doom and fear of what was to come.

But first, breakfast.

Once dressed, she left her apartment to purchase her meal from the Café Musain. Out on the street, Gavroche knocked into her at a run and continued on as though nothing had happened.

"Gavroche!" she called after the little boy before he could make it too far. The street was busy, though not any more than usual; the poor always slumped against buildings as an outline for the pavement. "Where are you off to so early?"

Gavroche cupped his hands around his mouth. "Enjolras is meeting with Cougourde! He asked me to join him!"

He beamed at this with pride, excited to be included. Aurelie smiled sadly and saluted him. "Be on your way, then," she called.

Gavroche bowed to her before gripping his cap and running around the corner, out of sight. Aurelie watched the corner as though she expected to see him again, perhaps tailing Enjolras, but they were both long gone.

Jingling the coins together in her palm, Aurelie entered the tavern and sat down at a well-worn table against the wall on the first floor. The café was busy, as it was the only place nearby to find a hot meal, and she ordered a plate of ham and eggs along with a cold glass of milk to drink.

A few tables away near the bar sat the Jondrette's, though it was no secret who they were. Formerly the Thenardier family, they were crooks and cons, even taking from those who thought they were in on it from the start. They'd once had five children, decided three was better suited and abandoned two at a widow's door. What came of the others? Two boys forgot who their parents were once sent on their own at the age of five, one of them Gavroche. Eponine was all who mattered to them, and only to use her in their schemes.

And beside the Jondrette's sat the lonely tragic girl at a table of her own. While the Jondrette's indulged with Montparnasee, Brujon and Babet in a large meal that had a high price, Eponine was left to the side with a plate of bread and a boiled egg.

Aurelie willed Eponine to notice her with her eyes, and Eponine caught them. They were both lonely this morning, and while Eponine had a crazy inside, she had heart in equal measure. It was only this reason Aurelie ever cared what became of Eponine.

Once her attention had been caught, Aurelie smiled and beckoned her over with her head. If there was a race, Eponine would have been the finisher as she scooped up her plate and hurried over to Aurelie's table.

"You look quite tired, Eponine. Can I order you some meat to wake you up?"

Eponine peered at her for a long while. "You're very kind to me, Aurelie," she responded, as if only now realizing that Aurelie was the only person who ever treated her as an equal. She shook her head, forcing the thought away, as it was unwelcome. "I don't want your money. I'm well with what I have."

She was not; her wretched parents treated her as a slave. But Aurelie would never insult anyone by insisting. They may live in the slums, however those who didn't steal only had their pride left to hold onto.

But their conversation opening had been abruptly short, and both were left wondering why they'd met here at all.

"It seems everyone has scattered for the day," Aurelie finally pointed out. It was apparent to all that the school boys were missed this morning. Only the old and the young were dining.

"Lamarque's death."

"Ah, of course."

Aurelie wished to dig in hungrily, but felt a shame over the ham on her plate while Eponine only picked on her bread, rolled it into balls, then set those balls on the side of her plate in a pyramid the way the army stacks the leads for their cannons.

She was forlorn, and upon hearing from Enjolras that Marius had run off with her last night, Aurelie's interest was piqued. She was no gossip—respecting the secrets around her. But that did not mean she felt no interest in the intrigue.

"Any word on the procession?"

Eponine shrugged, in a full slump over her plate. All that kept her head up was a bored hand on her chin.

"Couple days."

"Ah."

Aurelie was regretting asking her over at this point and began to eat so she'd have an excuse to escape. The girl added the rain to the cloud over Aurelie's head, and Aurelie's smiles and kindness to others was the sun attempting to break free, however forced it was.

"Enjolras made this the sign," Eponine finally said, then met Aurelie's eyes. Her chin remained tucked and a smile crept onto her face that looked wicked and crazed. "Are you frightened for him?"

This was said as a question of a fact already known, and Aurelie tried not to flinch. She decided to go with bland in her response, and form it as a question instead of a statement that would either end up as a truth of a lie.

Between truth and lies are fine lines that can be walked upon, but carefully.

"However do you mean?"

Taking one of the balls of bread, Eponine placed it on her tongue and lapped it into her mouth. "I know my way around," she said. "I see things people don't see."

"Well, that's a talent."

"You don't deny it, then?"

This was quite daring of Eponine, and certainly crossing a line she should not be near in the eyes of Aurelie. They were not close enough to discuss secrets. Aurelie had none close enough other than Enjolras. Perhaps Marius at most, but he was a man and women dare not discuss love with another man who was not the target of said love.

"What should I be denying?" Aurelie asked. She was well versed in conversational escapism. And this sort of daring of the darer made those who dared afraid to challenge one so strong. A woman who dares back is feared.

At least, until daring a madwoman, and Eponine was the crazed result of an upbringing no human being should ever have to suffer. Raised in a jail would have done her better off. Raised as she was, it was a horse to a carrot, dangling happiness that could not be reached, ever. She was teased to madness with this carrot, and the result left Aurelie with pity in understanding the root of the disease.

"That you love him," Eponine said, plopping one more ball of dough into her mouth.

Aurelie chuckled. "Of course I do," she said naturally. "Who doesn't? Men and women alike flock to him as a moth to a flame. He is too bright to be ignored."

These were truths instead of denial, and they could be freely spoken.

"Alright."

It seemed this was the end of the conversation in regards to Aurelie and Enjolras until Eponine looked up once more after swallowing another ball.

"But you do not just love him," Eponine said, drumming her fingers against her cheek. "You are _in_ love with him."

Ah yes, those who dare hard enough will dare incessantly.

"And what of it?"

"It's why you're fearful for him."

The only way to retort was with a misdirection that masks the truth.

"I feel for him what you feel for Monsieur Marius."

"For Marius?"

Eponine's eyes had widened, and she no longer positioned herself as one bored and tired. She had gone rigid, taking offense that her love for Marius could be shared with Aurelie. And if put side by side, Eponine knew it was Aurelie who would win.

At least until last night.

"I feel what you feel for Marius, only for Enjolras," Aurelie said, maintaining indifference to the subject. "Again I ask of you, who doesn't? Pertaining to women, many follow him with giggles and glances. And again I ask of you, what of it? He ignores them all."

Eponine smiled while biting her lower lip. "He ignores them all," she agreed. "All but you."

It was a sick curiosity that kept Aurelie in this conversation. She could have easily walked away, but the tenacity of Eponine was intriguing. No one had once brought Enjolras to Aurelie's attention in this way. They may tell her where he has gone, what he's been saying, but they'd never attached love to the equation the way Eponine was.

Beyond this, there was an exhaustion. With the world about to change, the future uncertain, Aurelie felt as though she needed to give her last will and testament. Their secret had not felt like a burden on her for a very long time, but now challenged outright, she wanted to stand atop the table and claim him as hers and hers alone.

To be possessive is an evil, as it implies a mistrust regarding the possession. But when pride enters the pot, it is hard at times not to say: "He is great, and he is mine."

"We are close, him and I," Aurelie said. This could be an admission of friendship or love. Still, an escape was needed before all was spilt, so she continued to eat with more haste.

"Yes, secret glances and secret touches," Eponine drawled.

Aurelie could not help but gape in horror.

* * *

The Depth of Eponine's Perception

There is nothing as strong as love. No human emotion can escape its grasp. It is as pure as a newborn child, unaffected by the cruelties of the world, yet holds the power of a weapon that, if wielded incorrectly, can split you open.

The wounds of love never heal, one can only accept that they now have the scars and hide the pain love left behind. A surgeon cannot cure the ailment of love, a magician cannot make it disappear. Once it has you, it holds on tight and has a puppet master pulling the strings. You are no longer in control of your life, your life now revolves around your love.

You can believe you make your own choices, but love drives every move on the chessboard. It is only when you've won or lost that you realize it has been checkmate from the start, and everything else has been casualties along the way.

This is the plight of poor Eponine.

When you have never received love, you search for it. You can find it in anyone, cupid's reckless arrow firing upon any target in sight. This is the deep craving for love, inherent in the loneliest of souls. The wicked can find it in the pure, the pure can find it in the wicked. Love sees no sins; it looks beyond the sins and pushes them aside.

It is a harsh adversary, love. It can strike anyone at any time, leaving one desperate for its return. The horrifying truth of love is that it can rarely be a mirror, often as sharp as glass.

And what happens when the glass cuts?

The answer to that has been told; it leaves the scars of battle.

In the case of Eponine, having never been loved by anyone, cupid's arrow fired recklessly in the direction of Marius. As a result of this missed target, Eponine left herself vulnerable, and in hopes of an eventual return, she became the puppet of Marius.

Love makes you see hope, but it can be a cruel trick. You can find yourself under its spell, the trickster of love leading you to believe that, under its command, you can work for it. This is not the case. When love has taken hold of you and not the arrow's aim, the arrow will stay, the target will not. It will continue to fight the battle as if there had been no prick felt. It is oblivious to the arrow, and it's now the target searching for one of its own.

It is a rare chance to find a target that is a mirror of yourself. In this case, you are just as vulnerable, only a different shade. This vulnerability, inexplicably, is more powerful than the other. Love has now added life to the equation, and life can be charitable or cruel depending on the circumstances.

So what of the circumstances involving Enjolras and Aurelie?

Cupid fires at the same time, shattering the mirror. The pieces cannot be reconstructed, and neither party wants them to be. They will build anew, creating a mirror that is now threefold: an echo of each other's love with the depth of life between.

This is a rare occasion and undeniable. It is a celebration without guests, the world now revolving around the two targets. From here, no notice is paid to cupid's arrow, for cupid has moved on to the next. He's done his duty, and he has achieved great success.

_The power of a glance has been so much abused in love stories that it has come to be disbelieved in. Few people dare now to say that two beings have fallen in love because they have looked at each other. Yet it is in this way that love begins, and in this way only._

This is where Enjolras and Aurelie found themselves. They each thought themselves whole until the stark realization that a whole has two halves. And once this is realized, the whole cannot be a whole without its halves. Hearts begin as halves, as much as they like to think themselves whole. When the heart echoes the beat of another, it finds its rhythm. And in a simple glance, Enjolras found the reason he lived for his purpose. Aurelie found the reason behind every choice made.

Had choices been made?

There is no choice in love, but there are steps that can deliver one to it. Because you never know when love will strike, when it does, you find the choices made could be no other way. It's the choices that led you here, and it's all been a divine plan out of your power.

So how does this affect those who see it from afar?

When living in the shadow of love's cruelty, one looks for a ray of light. They have reconciled the fact that they are relegated to darkness, so any flash of spark from two in love has the chance to bring light into their world.

When you have no light, those flashes, like fireworks, leave their mark in the eyes of the beholder. In this way, they go remembered. The firework disappears, but when another fires into the black of night, it's a reminder of the last, an echo of what was just seen.

Love walks side by side on any day, and in its purest form, it's commenting on the weather. It's then that love touches an arm, and the touch can tingle. Glances linger. Then it is no longer any other day. Those who live in the light cannot see the flash; it is too bright in their surroundings to notice. These flashes only illuminate the shadows. It's very rare to have light in a shadow, so it does not go unnoticed. The dark world is a shadow to those living in the light, so notice is taken of the sparks and remembered. When the light repeats itself, the picture becomes clear.

The best you can do from the shadows is try to reach what you see, as no light will reach you otherwise. Light from another source can grip you like a novel, leave you turning to the next page with bated breath to see what it will bring.

This is where Eponine finds herself fascinated by the love of others, and through Enjolras and Aurelie, she could see the well written novel page by page. This is when glances are noticed by her shadows. Simple touches. The cause and the effect.

But why the secret?

The secret fascinates the shadows more than the light itself, turning the novel into a thriller. Now the light holds intrigue coupled with the longing for it.

Only when viewed from afar is the secret understood, the pages revealing the story. Neither party fully understands its importance in the bigger picture, only that they have their reasons. They can pretend it's a game; that the secret is as special as the love, but love likes to flaunt its feathers. It tries to fly from the forest and sing to all that it is there and it is magnificent.

But when confined, only the cage understands the captors, as it is the device between the predator and prey.

Everyone likes to think their gods are chaste. That Mary was but a virgin, because we need her to be to idealize her role. That Jesus had a heart for all, equally, for if he didn't, those who followed him would lose their idolatry of a standard not upheld.

After all, is it not the sacrifice of Jesus that sins have been washed away?

This is Enjolras. The leader of followers. His sacrifice is his secret for a greater good that has now been a guise in his eyes. He is viewed by others as great and attempts to withhold the standard set upon him. Because of his dedication to the beliefs of those who surround him, he is worshipped for having no weakness for love. In this, he shoulders the weaknesses of others and offers them forgiveness for their sin of love. And as Jesus died so we all can sin, thus is Enjolras' sacrifice.

But why does Aurelie accept the secret? It seems she has no reason to, as she is not a leader of followers and worshipped only through love, the greatest by Enjolras. She has even less of a reason to keep a secret because she is strong enough to battle Enjolras and win the wars. She is not passive; she does not shirk from blows. She fights, often playing a devil's advocate to strengthen resolves. She is no average woman: bright, beautiful, intellectual, perceptive, understanding and sure of every move she makes. For what reason would she keep her end of the bargain? She must have some; it's not human nature to give something without a return.

Her reason is simple. Her secret is kept for love.

Love has the power to render even the strongest crippled, and the strongest of people are the two here, our hero and heroine, maintaining their secret.

* * *

What Eponine Does for Love

"I believe I need a walk," Aurelie said.

"Good, I'd like to take you somewhere," replied Eponine.

Needing an escape is too kind of a phrase to describe what Aurelie felt, but it was her kindness that won out. Scooping up her bread, she followed Eponine from the Café Musain in a sort of trance.

Ten minutes later, Eponine turned to Aurelie.

"You did not answer me," she said, then continued with her plea. "Are you in love with Enjolras, and is he in love with you."

Alone, without the tavern surrounding them, Aurelie gave up.

"We are friends, you and I," Aurelie said cautiously.

"I'd hope for that, yes," Eponine said. She was very sad, and Aurelie always felt it necessary to brighten a person's day one by one. It was Enjolras who could fight for the masses. Aurelie fought for the individual.

"Then that bit is settled."

Eponine asked, "And the bit of you and Enjolras?"

"I cannot speak for him. But I am very much in love with him, and I can only say that he has told me the same. I believe he means it."

Eponine smiled softly, longingly and sad. "Thank you."

Not really understanding why Eponine had ended this discussion with her thanks, Aurelie again followed, thinking Eponine very queer indeed.

It was another twenty minutes before they reached rue Plumet. The gate was closed and it seemed from the vines that it had not opened in a very long time. The garden was wild with overgrowth, many plants having died due to neglect. The dwelling on the property was not able to be seen through the thicket, one would only know a building stood from the roof that barely caught the eyes, and only if one was looking for it.

Once close, Eponine's pace slowed in the way one approaches a sacred statue. When she reached the wrought iron fencing, she lightly gripped the filigrees, staring into the wild vegetation that was so unlike anywhere else in Paris.

"Yesterday," she began, speaking to the thicket. "You hadn't returned yet."

Her frame rigid, Aurelie couldn't take her eyes off the girl. This was interesting, what was taking place today. They'd had plenty of conversations that had remained on a superficial level, only once breaching the dam when Eponine cried one night after Aurelie saw Monsieur Jondrette backhand her. She'd run to Eponine to soothe her, help her up from the cobblestone.

"I watch," Eponine continued. "From shadows, everything is clear but your own path. It's how I knew of you and Enjolras. It's easier to follow the lives of others than my own.

"A girl and her father were in the marketplace buying fresh vegetables. They handed out coins to the poor for charity. They were quite wealthy, judging by their clothing. I knew the girl in my past life. Back when we were the Thenardier's and not the Jondrette's. I remember little other than loving her."

Turning to Aurelie, she said, "Her mother would send us money. It was the only reason Papa kept her. He kept anyone who he could leech from, as I'm sure you've seen him do. They only cared for her for the money, and even then they didn't care for her at all. They treated her as a slave. We were only six."

Eponine paused, remembering upon mentioning their age how early she'd been taught to deceive and con.

"I didn't know any better," she said, feeling a need to explain her behavior away to Aurelie. She admired Aurelie and hoped she'd understand. "I didn't know what I was doing or what my parents were doing. I only knew that I loved her, and then one day she was gone."

"Where to?"

Eponine shrugged, pursed her lips to the side. "She was purchased by a man in the middle of the night."

"No!" Aurelie cried, horrified by the thought.

"Not for anything wicked," Eponine said with a roll of her eyes. She chuckled without an ounce of humor, as the story was not even remotely funny. Cosette had won then, had won again last night. "The man knew her mother and made a promise on her deathbed to take care of Cosette. My parents would not give her up without a fee, and he paid to follow through with his promise. Take her into a better life. I never saw her again. Until yesterday."

"And she is well?"

Aurelie was strangely hypnotized by this story, wondered where it was leading. And when she saw a flash of pain cross Eponine's features, she knew it would end badly.

"She is well," Eponine said, looked at Aurelie. "She's like you, Aurelie. Beautiful. Stunningly so. She's the way you once were before you lost your family. I never had that, you know. Never had a family who loved me, they've only used me."

Aurelie decided to ignore the unintentional jab. Losing her family had been a great tragedy that she still hadn't recovered from. It was moving here that had made everything right in the world once more.

"Did you speak to her?"

Another shake of her heavy head. "No," she said. "My parents tried to con her father, who could not be conned. Javert was near and they ran." She cocked her head to the side. She hadn't been able to figure out why they'd run, but had saved them the previous night despite her pain. That was when her father had struck her, not the first time, and certainly not the last. "But none of this is the story, only background."

Aurelie stepped forward, ready to console Eponine, as the girl was carrying a burden that weighted her tiny frame. "What is the story?"

"Marius," Eponine breathed, eyes wide and glossy. "He saw her too. Just as I did. I saw my love for her, and he discovered his."

The ghost, Aurelie realized.

"He begged me to find her name," she continued, her lip quivering. "I pretended I didn't know her and set off to find her."

"But Eponine! Why?"

Tears welled up in Eponine's eyes, but she would not cry openly. She'd been through a lot, though inexplicably, this had been the worst she'd ever experienced.

"I can't say why," she said, chin quivering. "Marius asks me to do things and he doesn't know how much it pains me."

"Why do them at all?" Aurelie demanded of her. She knew Marius quite well; he was enigmatic and a tease when it came to women. She assumed people knew that. All but those women who only could hope for a chance with him.

And on this, it was easier for Aurelie to relate. Had Enjolras not returned her love, she could see her love being powerful enough to try to earn his. It didn't work that way, but she wouldn't have known that.

She wanted to rescind her question. And did.

"You don't need to answer that," Aurelie said, stepping toward the girl. "I understand why."

Eponine shook her head. "I found this house." The longing in her eyes as she turned back to the house wounded Aurelie's heart, aching for the poor girl, as it had so often when she'd see her abused. "I watched them. They had no real reason to run from Javert, and I don't know why. They are honest people trying to live an honest life. So last night after watching this place, I went to find Marius. He was with Enjolras and I stole him away to bring him here.

"I don't know how," she said painfully. "I can't say how she knew he was here, but she walked out at the moment he stood in this very spot." She turned to Aurelie and pointed to the corner of the property. "I watched from there. He didn't notice I was still here, his eyes were trained and they became each other's world. He never saw me there, just as he's never seen me as anything more.

"He thanked me over and over again on the way, every word a dagger. And I watched him slip from me, though he was never mine to keep."

Eponine turned to Aurelie and released her grip on the iron, stepped toward her. "He looked at her the way Enjolras looks at you. The way Grantaire looks at Enjolras—" So Aurelie was not the only person who noticed this secret. Those who keep secrets see others, and in Eponine, it seemed it was also a secret safe. "—The way I look at Marius. You are the lucky one, Aurelie. You're the only one whose love is requited. Only Marius received it from Cosette."

Aurelie finally reached for Eponine, rested her hand on her shoulder in comfort. "Eponine, I had no idea," she said. It wasn't quite the truth; she'd noticed how Eponine would gaze at Marius. How she did his bidding without Marius realizing what he asked of her. But she hadn't realized until now the toll it took, stealing what little of a soul she had left.

Eponine began to silently cry. "Marius planned to meet her, then left," she whispered, chin trembling. "I watched, still. I needed to watch just to accept it. That was when my father came with his friends in hopes of turning them in to the police for a reward." She inhaled deeply for courage. "So I screamed, and my father struck me."

Aurelie hurt for her, and lifted her hand from Eponine's shoulder to her cheek to look for the blow, only noticed now that she had a small cut. "You should not be treated in such a manner," she said sadly.

"The physical pain can help," Eponine said. Aurelie gasped, unable to imagine how this girl suffered so deeply that a strike would soothe her emotional pain. "Before I left, I saw Cosette."

Digging into her pocket, Eponine pulled out a slip of paper, folded in half, the name Marius scrawled in beautiful handwriting across the top. Looking up in shame at Aurelie, she said, "She slid this in the gate before they ran from here."

"You must give it to him," Aurelie insisted.

Eponine shook her head vehemently. "I can't," she said, then bit her lip. "I'm not ready."

Indeed, it was circumstances that had left her going mad, not the creation of a corrupted soul. And Aurelie knew she would give it to him once Eponine had reconciled with herself what had happened. Grieved the loss.

Gently aiding Eponine in closing her hand over the letter, Aurelie said, "You will in due time. But you must do it soon, Eponine. If they have a secret, they are about to run, and if it's a letter of where she is headed, Marius should know."

Marius had what Enjolras did not. Marius, dedicated as he was, could put love first. It was not for Aurelie to assume which love was stronger; Marius' love for this Cosette or his love for Enjolras. But it was up to Marius to decide. What Aurelie couldn't decide upon was whether or not Marius had Enjolras beat.

"If it's a letter of her love," Aurelie continued, thinking aloud. "He deserves to know it before he faces his war."

Eponine backed away with a deep breath. She knew this.

"Does it hurt you?" Eponine asked, her back toward Aurelie.

Aurelie furrowed her brows. "Whatever do you mean?"

Eponine spun to face Aurelie. "Does it hurt you to love the way it does me? Or is it easier knowing Enjolras returns it."

Aurelie swallowed. Blinked. "Yes, Eponine," she whispered, thinking of how everything had changed with her pregnancy. How everything was about to change with his war. "It hurts me very much."

Shaking her head to clear it, Eponine straightened her frame. "It no longer matters," she said. "Everyone will die at the barricade."

"Eponine!" Aurelie hissed.

"It does not mean a war won't rage on," Eponine said, and in this, Aurelie was up close and personal with Eponine's mad soul. "But those who begin a war never survive through it."

Aurelie felt ill because she knew deep down that was often the case. And very well could be.

"Eponine, let us change our subject," Aurelie demanded. "I cannot even begin to think that way, not now. You may have lost your faith, but I must hold mine close."

Shoulders up near her cheeks, Eponine gave Aurelie a look that plainly said Aurelie could think as she liked, but it was Eponine who spoke the truth.


	5. Book Five: Bonds are Sealed

**BOOK FIVE:**

**Bonds are Sealed**

* * *

The Honor in Documented Proof

Interrupted in her afternoon shift, Enjolras snagged Aurelie's arm in front of everyone to pull her aside. Aurelie instantly assumed Eponine had told everyone what had been shared that morning as he dragged her out the back, calling to Widow Huchloup, "I need to steal this one for a bit."

Because Enjolras had such power here, no one said anything. Everyone just watched Aurelie helplessly follow with a strong hold on her arm.

Down the hall, Aurelie coursed through how she would explain this and fight his accusations with reason. But once outside, he did not ask. Once outside in the privacy of the alley, he smiled at her.

"I just got back from Cougourde," he said proudly with an air of flippancy. "The leaders there have promised their allegiance and will fight with us come Lamarque's funeral day."

Aurelie scoffed, rubbing her arm where he'd taken hold. "I'm glad for you," she said, looking at him peculiarly. "Why the urgency and violence, Enjolras? I do believe you may leave a bruise!"

"Oh, God, I'm sorry," Enjolras cried, his eyes wide as he lightly touched the injured arm. He blinked. "I've just been in a mode of urgency, and this is just as urgent to me, if not more."

"That you secured Cougourde?" Aurelie demanded in wonder. "I have work to do."

With a small smile, Enjolras shook his head. "I already knew I had Cougourde. But before I allowed Gavroche to join me, I made for Saint Genevieve this morning and spoke with Father d'Aurillac. He's closing up the sanctuary right now for us to wed."

Aurelie gaped.

"I told you, my love. I will not let you go another day without a proper husband."

"I've had a husband in God's eyes."

Enjolras nodded his agreement. "And in mine. And while that was the most I could give, it was the very least I should have. Today we will have witnesses."

Aurelie's heart swelled. She'd assumed it was an empty promise last night, but Enjolras always followed through with his word to her, and she wasn't sure why she'd doubted him at all now.

Then, Enjolras took it to a level that shocked her. Any witnesses in the alleyway would know exactly what was happening, but this was disregarded under the shroud of the shadows. Only those in the shadows would notice now.

He took to a knee.

"We have wed," he said. "I now ask that you allow our secret to be shared before a proper witness and through the mouth of God's Sheppard. Will you allow it?"

Brushing her fingers through his hair to push aside a clump of curl from his right brow, she responded, "I will allow it."

Enjolras rose and cradled her cheek. "You honor me. Ready yourself, I'll deal with Huchloup. I've asked Monsieur Marius to join me on a journey. I do believe I'm about to shock him."

Eyes wide, Aurelie laughed as airily as a bell. There was no one more perfect, and perhaps this would make up and serve as a sincere apology to Marius for Enjolras' scolding the previous night. Enjolras would show here and now that he was on equal ground, and to Marius, it would mean the most.

"I do believe you're right, my love," she responded once she'd stifled the laugh. "You're sure about this?"

"I've never been so sure of anything in my life."

"I doubt it."

"How well you know me," Enjolras laughed. "It's only that the measurement of my confidence here is far greater than the others."

"I'll try not to smile while walking through the tavern."

"You're free to. This is a happy day."

Aurelie nearly responded with: _and the last of them_, but bit her tongue and allowed this happy day to engulf her even if tomorrow became bleak once more.

Be that as it may, she kept her head low to hide any smile threatening to cross her lips so it would appear as though she'd taken a scolding from the general. What she heard from Enjolras as she left was:

"Madame Huchloup, I need Aurelie for an errand of importance. She has a way to soften even the most unbreakable men with her smile. I do hope you'll understand the necessity that she accompany me."

And Huchloup, choosing to read into these words the impending war because she knew no differently, agreed to let her go.

It was the truth of Aurelie. If not evident in her ability to break through the impenetrable wall that was Enjolras' tenacity, she could offer a smile that would warm another's day and speak with the intelligence to garner the respect of any man or woman.

Choosing clothing was the hardest decision Aurelie had made in a long time. Aurelie, opinionated and steadfast in arguments, would struggle over simple choices like appropriate attire. A wedding deserved the finest, an average day visiting a cathedral meant just as much. She took a long time to consider her options. But once deciding that the guise was a visit to a leader in the uprising, she could match Enjolras and Marius' finer attire, so she put on a crème skirt that was humble and beautiful. Pure, as a bride should be, and still a woman on a mission to gather men.

Outside, Marius and Enjolras were waiting for her. She curtsied at the two, not knowing what story Enjolras had sold to Marius, and if Enjolras was looking forward to Marius' surprise, she would not spoil the game.

Half way there, Marius asked, "So these men. They wanted to meet us at Saint Genevieve? I don't understand why."

"It's only in a chapel that people are safe with secrets," Enjolras said, walking between Marius and Aurelie.

"I can see that reasoning," Marius conceded. "Still, it seems a strange place to talk of battles."

Aurelie laughed under her breath.

"I believe a chapel is entirely appropriate to talk of all," Enjolras said. "Be it war or love, and anything on the spectrum between the two."

The cathedral was now in sight, and they had just approached the corner of the gated walls.

"But today we will not speak of battles, Monsieur," Enjolras said just before the gate, which held a sign saying they were closed to the public. He eyed his friend levelly. "Today we talk of love."

It was clear to Aurelie that Marius did not understand.

It was the shoulder sagging that led Marius to say: "If this is about last night, I offer you my sincere apologies for my behavior, but I don't see how Saint Gene—"

"This is not about last night," Enjolras said. "In many ways it is. Your attendance today is out of my sincere friendship, and apropos in my apology for the way I condemned you." Here, he reached for Aurelie. "This is also my apology to Aurelie." Lacing his fingers in her hand, as though introducing her for the first time to Marius, he said: "I am asking you to bear witness."

After a second of confusion, Marius bowed his head to Aurelie, regarding her as his general's queen. "I didn't know . . ."

"You knew," Enjolras said with a nod. "You and everyone else remain impassive because I force it to be so. But look at us, Marius." He locked his eyes in Aurelie's to show the proof of it. "The world decides my death, but it is in Aurelie that I live."

A veil had lifted from Marius, and he could see their world for what it was. That they were in the orbit of one another in this glance, and the world outside of them ceased to matter.

Eyes still locked in Aurelie's, he asked of Marius once more: "Will you bear witness?"

"You need even ask that question of me?" Marius responded, still in a state of shock. He was realizing Enjolras was right; he'd always known, and it was Aurelie he'd always known it of. She was a reflection of Enjolras in the female form, and now that it was before him, it could be no other way.

Enjolras finally looked at Marius.

"And you understand why this is done in secrecy?"

Marius nodded gravely. "I understand the necessity, though you're wrong for it."

"I agree," Enjolras said quietly. It was a dirty trick, a secret he shouldn't have to position Aurelie in. It was a disservice to her. But he also stood firm on the necessity, and that would not waiver.

Aurelie released Enjolras' hand to sneak into Marius' arm. "Thank you," she said to him. "My father is no longer here. I hope you'll give me away."

"It's an honor."

The three entered the chapel, where Father d'Aurillac stood in the middle of the aisle awaiting their arrival. He bowed his head, then bid them to follow him up to the altar. Enjolras had known this man for many years, had often come to debate with him the merits of religion and the cruelties of God, having no allegiance to anything other than Patria. This priest was a friend and stranger together, and what was said in the past was confident, as it was today.

Marius reverently took Aurelie's hand and offered it to his closest friend once at the altar; the man Marius respected more than anyone who had ever walked this earth. Aurelie was not his to give, but to Marius, the secret was offered in the form of Aurelie. His approval, his admiration.

There, prayers were offered through the mouth of God's chosen as Aurelie and Enjolras gazed at one another whilst holding hands. The ceremony was long and thorough, covering the lord's blessing of their union.

They repeated their vows from eighteen months ago, tacking addendums to the end to cover the love that had magnified with each day that had passed. With what was to come, Enjolras said he would protect her until his last breath, as death may decide to take him young.

"I have no ring for you, Aurelie," Enjolras said.

"A ring gives me nothing," Aurelie responded.

Enjolras smiled endearingly, then dug in the pocket of his vest. "But I have this," he said softly, letting a modest gold chain dangle between his finger and thumb.

"Monsieur," Aurelie said through a chuckle. "Is this your way of chaining me up?"

Enjolras smiled in amusement. "If I'm not mistaken, we are both prisoner to our love, are we not?"

Aurelie agreed and took the chain from him. She'd had finer in her life, and recognized clearly that nothing could ever sparkle as much as the gold she would wear in this necklace.

"My mother would approve if she knew, and she will be written of it," Enjolras said, taking it back and twirling his finger so she would spin around. He unclasped it and draped it around her neck. "This was her grandmothers and was given to me in case a woman caught my eye. I considered selling it, but a chain of my mother's was more valuable to me than coins, and you are more valuable to me than this chain. She'll be happy my love now wears it."

Aurelie placed her palm over the chain once it had been clasped into place. No necklace would ever be worn again but this one, and she retrieved the item she'd brought for him without ever having known he'd have brought his own.

"How interesting that we think alike, Monsieur," she said, then gently opened her palm. "For this was my father's pocket watch, and I offer it to you in honor of his approval from heaven. He would have liked you very much, you know. Of all the titles offered to me, I know he would have preferred you above them all."

She pressed the watch into his hand, and he took it with reverence.

From there, they kissed. Their union had once been sealed in this very same way, only now it would have the tangible proof in the form of items exchanged and a document signed by witnesses. And it was when their lips parted that Enjolras did not speak of his love as an abstract value. Forehead against hers, he simply said: "I love you."

The document was signed by the two, Marius, and the priest, then stamped with the seal of the Catholic Church. Enjolras eyed Marius to take him aside. And now Marius could see that Enjolras was more than someone to venerate, which was, perhaps, all the more reason to worship the ground he walked on.

The mood was solemn rather than filled with joy now; this reception held little merriment, rather the tone of a funeral, regardless of the joy and love he and Aurelie felt together. Austerely, Enjolras said, "You've bore witness to our marriage. I tell this to you only, Marius: If I cannot see to it myself, you will see to her safety. I mean this, Marius. You understand?"

"Of course, Enjolras."

"This girl you met, Cosette?" Enjolras asked him, saw Marius nod. "She loved you in a glance, yes?"

Marius again nodded. "I did not live until yesterday," he answered.

A brief but firm nod was given by Enjolras. "I trust you'll find a way," he said, meaning it as keeping Aurelie safe if he could not, as well as finding Cosette once their work was complete.

"I promise you both," Marius responded, understanding fully what Enjolras was asking of him.

It must be explained that Enjolras believed he would die. He'd said this to Father d'Aurillac this morning, and would never share it with anyone else. He could hint at it to Marius, but it was the only secret he would not share with Aurelie. He would not burden her with these dark thoughts, however well she might take them.

This was not fear, this was strength. And Aurelie gave him more of a reason to not only see it through, but to live. Unfortunately there are times an outcome could be speculated upon. He did not know the outcome of their war, but he did not believe he would live to see its end. It was faith in the people that they would fight on.

Marius had settled Enjolras, and he asked for a moment with his bride. Marius exited the chapel, and the priest recognized they needed privacy before they left and turned to his quarters.

Enjolras held the paper out to Aurelie. "You're to take this," he said under his breath, giving her what he once thought he could never offer. Aurelie stared at him with austerity, recognized why this document was more important than the vows. Enjolras was giving her safety.

"If anything should happen to me . . ."

"Nothing will happen," Aurelie interrupted with desperation.

"If anything should happen to me," Enjolras said, this time with insistence in his tone, "this is what will matter. How sad it is that a piece of paper can give you the life you need when my love cannot, but it's the most I can do and the least you deserve. Keep this safe."

"Enjolras . . ." Aurelie said, her eyes slowly closing. She gently took the paper from him. "You make this an end."

Enjolras moved not a muscle, his face remaining austere. "This _is_ an end, my love," he said. "It can become a beginning, but for now it is your insurance."

"This is not about insurance," Aurelie disagreed. "It's written word of a commitment made long ago, is all."

Enjolras agreed, wet his lips, then looked away as he sighed. "It should hold someone else's name," he said, disgusted by himself.

"Any paper with my name alongside someone else's would be a lie," Aurelie stated vehemently. She looked at the paper, its red seal. There were things she wanted to argue, but they both would be stating facts. This was written word of their love, but it was indeed insurance as well. It was only that they weighted its importance differently. "Let me say this now, as after we've left this chapel, there may never be another opportunity to do so."

Enjolras brought his eyes to her, giving her his full attention. Something she deserved more often than he had.

"You believe wrongly, Enjolras," she said, never so sure of anything than these words. "You are right in most things, but here you fail to give yourself credit. What you believe is that you've ruined me, when you have actually created me."

He went to protest, to interrupt, then saw Aurelie's determination and abruptly shut his mouth.

"I was born to be with you," she continued. "If God willed it for only a brief period of time, then so it must be. But that is nor was for you to decide. You believe I could have been happier, but this is where your correctness of the world stops. I could have never lived a happy life without you, even if I never knew it. My happiest time was seeing your eyes for the first time, and if this is the last, it is still my happiest time. And my happiest times have been all the times between the two. Do not ever forget these truths, because they could be no other way."

Enjolras had a prominent lump in his throat. He had never cried, and wouldn't now. But if any moment could bring him to tears, this was the one. Instead of cursing his weakness, here he embraced it, as it would only last until they'd left this holy place. He was not the God here; she was.

He reached out to cradle her face with one hand, brushed his thumb across her lips. "You have been my light in darkness," he told her. "I accept what you say, as you must accept my regret that I could not give you more."

Aurelie smiled before tilting her head to kiss his palm. "What more is there to give than happiness?" she asked. "The world?" She smiled at him. "You will give me the world tomorrow. Better still: you will give the world to our child, and to itself."

Enjolras found himself speechless, and to cover for it, he leaned in to kiss her lips.


	6. Book Six: Trials of Love

**BOOK SIX:**

**Trials of Love**

* * *

Love Must Be Tested

_Up until now we have alluded to the two halves never being whole again. We have mentioned that once they found each other, they could not survive without the other. When Benoit sent Aurelie back to Paris in late May of 1832, he reminded her that he had learned once that Enjolras was lost without her love._

_These things can be assumed upon, but not known until love has suffered through. It takes a trial to solidify what is believed in. Belief can be enough, but rarely in love._

_We will hear the tale of their first glance upon a remembrance later at the barricade, but now we deal with their trial._

_The secret became a problem six months after Aurelie had moved to Paris. King Louis Philippe was indeed becoming a King, though different than the kings prior. Instead of ruling with force and strength, he was trying to please both sides equally. New charters were written and revised weekly. The outcome left things even less fair than before and angered all sides until he finally gave into the side that buttered his bread, creating more problems than the people could stand._

_While Aurelie's point had been proven the first night with these problems, Enjolras was taking things to the next level and demanding a republic now rather than believing in an easier transition. A new character had entered his secret society by the name of Marius Pontmercy, and their massive disagreements had solidified his arguments and his dedication to a democracy. He was more agitated than ever, and perhaps this played a part in what transpired._

_You might assume that Aurelie became fed up with the secret imposed on her, and you would not be inaccurate. She was indeed tried by this. There were two extremes she had bounced between now and had not found the middle._

_As a Baron's daughter, her family had hosted many dinner parties aimed to match her with a proper husband and tighten bonds between other families of status. Beautiful as she was, the highest of titles were thrown her way, yet she'd had no interest in all but one suitor, and that one was hardly at all. She was a devoted daughter to a point of fault and was prepared to do her duty, but her father did not recognize the daughter he loved when she was with these men. So off they went. Steadfast, opinionated and often times a handful, her father was waiting for the one she would fight with, not just curtsey and nod._

_On the opposite side of the spectrum, Aurelie had now fallen deeply in love—a love that began with a fight, as her father had expected of her—and no dinner parties had been thrown. Parents were not shooing the lovers out for a walk alone or speaking of allegiances behind closed doors. She was in a new life now and did not expect it to be like the old._

_Regardless, it must be admitted that for these first six months there were times Aurelie wished to hold his hand on the street or share a private meal in a public setting._

_Be that as it may, it's the easy route to assume Aurelie threw a tantrum, demanding she be acknowledged instead of hidden. And was she any of the women who tailed Enjolras trying to catch his eye—those women he peered at with disdain—that would have been the case. These girls who whispered and giggled around Enjolras would have announced to all that they had claimed the leader._

_Aurelie was no other woman._

_On the other hand, Enjolras one evening behaved as such._

_The second floor of the café was alive with more than just the Les Amis. Aurelie liked to spend her evenings here as often as she could without being perceived as a swooning girl. She was rather a devotee. A supporter. She could speak on dates: 1772, 1793, 1815. She could quote both Bonaparte and Voltaire. She had also reached a point where she knew the likes of these modern men in Cougourde and Les Halles. She could talk of life and death and the times between. The men loved having her, as she could stand on her own two feet and match their wits be it in debates or antics. They very much viewed her as one of them. An honorary member at the very least._

_There were rare times their mistresses would be invited for a party instead of a men's club, and these were not Aurelie's favorite nights, but nights she could get away with spending more time with her brother's friends._

_Her love's friends._

_Her love._

_Constantly worrying of how his actions might be perceived, Enjolras spent less time with her than the rest, but would indulge in a head-butting when views of the world were shared. And because the two were such fantastic orators, they were either watched like a street performance or left alone while the men shrugged, finding it rather impossible to compete against their eloquence._

_This so happened to be one of the nights the men had brought women on their arms; any little plaything they had scrounged up for the evening to trifle and flirt with, perhaps coax into their beds. More wine was consumed on these sorts of nights and the atmosphere was always playful._

_Save for the times Enjolras and Aurelie would inevitably unsheathe their cat claws and debate the newest legislation placed upon the citizens as King Louis Philippe tried to satisfy both sides of the castes._

_"And you are going to sit there and tell me that you not only accept, but agree that our economic state is the result of crop failures? It is nothing but handfed crow to the masses so no fault is placed upon the government, instead their empty stomachs are the will of God. God has wished they starve and so it is so. You and I both have lived in the south, Aurelie!" Enjolras said while knocking his knuckles on the table between them._

_"I am going to tell you like it is, Enjolras," Aurelie said calmly, having made no reaction to his outburst. Not even a blink. "It's a fact. It does not mean there is not corruption, because there most certainly is in abundance. Our lack of abundance has been in the food production, among many other excuses given. You cannot gloss over a fact because it does not suit your argument."_

_Enjolras gaped. "Food production as a convenient excuse _is_ the entire point of my argument!" he cried, flinging his hands in the air. "We have seen a bad winter, as we have for four years, but that is not the only thing that breaks us. It's the excuse I will not tolerate. Kings are what put us into debt, not the people. Not hard winters and crop failures. Kings!"_

_They had not realized how close their heads were until Bossuet slammed his hands on the table between them, springing from nowhere. "For the love of God!" he yelled. "Can you not rest? I left this conversation thirty minutes ago and walk by to find you still in the middle of it! You have been at this for the better part of an hour. I can't even count the figures thrown about. I heard once a debt of thirty thousand livres, then the next twelve billion! Can you not see that those around you are debating the merits of love and alcohol rather than the crop failures?"_

_He clapped Enjolras on the back. "Take a break and breathe for once," he said, bringing his pitch down, then pointed toward the stairs. "Now there is a lonely little sparrow across the room. If you cannot find an interest within you, at least pretend for a night so we don't feel like fools who don't meet your standard."_

_Aurelie laughed. "Indeed, Enjolras," she said wickedly. "A lovely sparrow, at that. Leave your failed debate with me and grab a bottle of wine. You cannot win here, perhaps you can win there."_

_To punctuate this, she stole Bossuet's bottle and took a long swig while keeping her eyes locked on Enjolras, a sardonic smile able to be seen even with her lips against the rim._

_He tried very hard to not look as aghast as he felt, as angered at the both of them, and attempted to recover from the fact that his love was pushing him to another woman, albeit a mocking dare._

_"You see?" Bossuet said, then gripped Aurelie's hand. "Even the swan is shooing you away. I know not who has won this argument, but it is clear that you have lost the prize. Find another you stand a chance with."_

_He then kissed her hand and planted himself on the table between them, leaning down on his elbow to face Aurelie._

_"And you believe you do?" Aurelie cried while tossing her head back in laughter._

_"I believe that someday you'll recognize my charm and fall in love with me, even if it's still not tonight," he said while grinning mischievously._

_Flicking her eyes to Enjolras, she smiled. "I have bad news for you, Bossuet. If it hasn't happened yet, I'd say you've lost this bet as much as you lose your coins to my brother. Is there any fortune that actually befalls you in this life or are you destined to tripping around?"_

_Gripping his heart, Bossuet pouted. "You wound me, Mam'selle!"_

_"You have charm," Aurelie said, patting his cheek in feigned pity. "Unfortunately it is wasted on me."_

_"Alas, it is mine to waste, and I have determination in abundance!"_

_Inflamed, Enjolras rose from his chair and planted himself beside Courfeyrac at the table beside this one._

_"Ah, now that the general has left, let us delve into a debate of love. We can talk of the economy tomorrow. Enlighten me, Swan. Tell me what I do wrong and I will rectify it presently."_

_Aurelie, feeling a slight pity while still quite amused over Enjolras' annoyance, felt it necessary to aim something his way, though said with her eyes on Bossuet._

_"Perhaps it's that I wish to talk of the economy, and that you've proven to be unable to charm you way through it!"_

_Bossuet leapt up and took the vacated chair. "Oh, but the economy is charming! Have you not noticed how alluring coins are? They sparkle when you have them and plead to be spent on wine and women! I have my wine, and it is here to share with a woman, so please, have another drink."_

_"You are absurd."_

_This was also aimed at Enjolras, as she could plainly see how low his brows had fallen, his jaw locked in place._

_Wit was exchanged, as was the bottle until it was empty._

_"As entertained as you've had me, Bossuet, I still say you are lost here in this territory," Aurelie said, rising from her chair. "I'm off to check on my brother, make sure those shiny coins are in his pocket and not Grantaire's. The swallow is still lonely; perhaps she can be charmed to the point of love, whereas I am as charmed as a queen to a court jester."_

_"One day," Bossuet said, lifting himself from the chair to purchase another bottle. "One day you will walk down the street, and it's just any other day. The birds sing, the clouds sail, the sun shines, and it will suddenly strike your heart that it belongs to me. You'll find me here with my wine, waiting."_

_"That or a bed," Aurelie said._

_"That you've joined me in?" Bossuet pleaded._

_Smiling, Aurelie said: "With a sparrow, Monsieur. When I've turned you down enough, you'll find that I am no swan. I am a crow."_

_"Never!" Bossuet yelled while raising his empty bottle in the air, having turned away at this, and those close enough who had caught bits of this spectacle began to point at him and laugh._

_"You'll never win her, dear man. Give it up."_

_"I applaud your efforts!"_

_"Go with the economy next time!"_

_"She's as untouchable as Enjolras!"_

_Speckled throughout as Bossuet continued to walk, he would respond again by shouting: "Never!"_

_Having been talking to Courfeyrac and Prouvaire half-heartedly, Enjolras did not even excuse himself from the conversation as he rose and clutched Aurelie's arm before she got too far._

_His mouth near her ear, he said sideways: "You will not do that again."_

_Floored, Aurelie could feel her face redden. No one was looking at them, and she whispered back: "You will not tell me what I can and cannot do."_

_Her arm was released and she continued on as though no words had been exchanged. But she was angry. Had she been baiting him? Without a doubt, she knew he was annoyed by Bossuet's advances. But if he didn't recognize where her heart rested, he was a fool who had not been paying attention. It was on him to make it stop, not her. All it would take is one word, one command, and no one would flirt with her as to not draw his ire. His friends may tease him for his love, but they would not go so far as to push a button with him by flirting with the woman at his side. She did not seek out attention, she only volleyed. In debates with him and flirtations with others._

_But she was certainly fuming now as she made her way to Benoit and grabbed his shoulder. "And how are the dominos treating you?"_

_"Not all that well," Benoit said through his teeth as Bahorel snickered, scooping up the money while Grantaire threw his blocks down on the table dramatically._

_Looking around at the four men, Aurelie boldly said, "Then you'll let me in to win it back."_

_This was about as improper as it got here, and many widened their eyes as she ripped a chair from a neighboring table and dragged it over. Drinking, flirting, teasing, politics; all these were permitted, but a woman joining the game surprised them all._

_She did not care as she planted herself at the table. She came up with a handful of coins and slammed them on the table in front of her, then ripped the bottle from Grantaire and took a swig in the most unladylike fashion possible._

_"Deal," she ordered Bahorel._

_He did as he was bid._

* * *

And Then She is Gone

_The pair did not speak to each other for three days. They both knew how explosive it would be, and both hoped that if some time passed it would downgrade from a thunderstorm to a downpour._

_As Enjolras had started it, he was the first to break and slipped a note under her door that asked her to come to his apartment that night._

_She did not._

_This was in defiance of what he had said. And he knew it, so the letter that followed the next day read:_

_"I am not telling you what you can and cannot do."_

_She arrived that night just before sundown. The past days had been spent thinking about exactly how she would word her arguments and convincing herself that if he did not understand, she would leave. This would be the hardest thing she'd ever done, possibly harder than losing her former life as her world crumbled a few years back, as this would be a decision she would have to enforce. But she would not allow herself to be told what to do by any man, especially one who insisted on a secret._

_"Aurelie," Enjolras said with a nod, trying to hide that he was losing his anger upon seeing her. "You look well tonight."_

_"I'm glad, for you look a mess," Aurelie said nonchalantly. How beautiful he was though, even with a hint of dark circles under his tired eyes. She sighed. "But I feel a mess, in no small part thanks to you."_

_Enjolras widened the door, a physical pain in his chest. He did not like that he had wounded her, despite how vehement he felt._

_Once inside, he poured her a glass of wine, then one for himself. When they'd sat down at the table in the small kitchen, a large sip was taken by each as they prepared for the war. Finally tossing his shoulders back, predisposed, he said, "I do not like how you're spoken to."_

_This was the beginning and an ease in before telling her he did not like how she spoke back._

_Aurelie knew this and flipped it to the root of the problem immediately. "Yet you blame me."_

_"Of course I blame you, for you sit there and allow it," Enjolras said._

_It's important to note that this early on, their tone was the same carried in a debate of politics. Both holding their ground without emotion. But as debates heat up, emotion inevitably ends up involved when passionate over the topic, and both were just as passionate about each other as the state of the world, if not more._

_Aurelie pursed her lips while looking up and to the right. "If you think that I will not play back in that sort of atmosphere, you do not know me at all. I will hold my ground the same way I always do. You should not expect me to turn red and run away."_

_"No," Enjolras agreed. "Instead of that, you play a game that you are hard to acquire, which you no doubt are, while leaving the possibility open."_

_"At exactly what point have I ever left the door open in regards to anyone?"_

_"There is such a thing as holding your ground and telling someone to go away," Enjolras responded. "But instead you flirt back."_

_"Remind me what I say, for I believe you're forgetting that I deny all advances."_

_"With the tone of a flirt!" Enjolras said, the first to raise a voice. "It's the tone that leaves the door open, not the words."_

_"So let me get this right, and by all means correct me if I'm wrong here," Aurelie said, leaning forward in earnest. She wanted to rise to get a head taller, but it would only result in him rising as well, so the action would nullify itself. "In the case of Saturday evening, you expected me to not laugh once and firmly state that I would have no part in this."_

_"I think that's a fair assessment."_

_Aurelie smiled viciously. "And then what?"_

_"However do you mean?"_

_She shrugged. "And then follow you to another table?"_

_"Perhaps."_

_"Alright," Aurelie responded, leaning back in her chair. "So let us take a look at how that would be perceived, because it seems to me that perception means everything to you when it comes to us. Bossuet flings himself between us and, teasingly, begins to flirt. I stand up, tell him to leave me alone, then follow you."_

_Before Enjolras could cut in, Aurelie continued. "So in your eyes, it is alright if I'm perceived as a lovesick puppy who follows you around like every other woman, but let's put that in reverse. If I get up first and you follow me, what then?"_

_"I don't believe I would follow you."_

_This was what did it. Aurelie rose with flair and shoved the chair into place at the table, then whisked up her wine glass, pointing at him with it._

_"You are more in love with your double standard than you are with me," she accused, then took a sip of her wine._

_It was not right that Enjolras was happy she had been the first to lose it, and he knew that, but felt so despite how wrong it was. It was the many debates he had won that had proven to him that when a party was losing, they ended up emotional and defensive._

_"The air is alight," Enjolras said. "Unease fills us half a year after the July Revolution, and let me be honest with both humility and pride that I am turned to in the end. These men are sharp and tenacious. Many times I learn from them, we know this. But we need to face that appearances matter in this world. Many citizens are already fed up and rallying together. This location has been assumed as mine, and those around me expect me in the role of leadership."_

_"A rightful role," Aurelie said. "I'll agree with them as well as you. You can complain of this greatness, but you are a born leader."_

_It was a good tactic, because this placed Enjolras in a position where he would have to be humble._

_"So let me ask," Enjolras said. "With this role placed upon me—"_

_"Oh, do not forget to give yourself some due credit," Aurelie said, rolling her eyes._

_"Fair," he agreed. "With this role I willingly take, I must lead as an example of standards I expect. I do not aim to change them, but when the time comes to be serious, I expect intrepid men who can leave the booze and women behind. If their leader is not such, how much can I ask of them without losing all respect, ultimately resulting in drunkards who will run to the beds of their mistresses at the first sight of danger?"_

_"You are actually telling me that these intrepid men of yours, who are indeed brilliant and as riled up as yourself, will not uphold a standard when the time comes simply because their leader behaved as one of them before?"_

_"I am telling you that generals need a sense of idolatry from those they lead or they have no leg to stand upon."_

_Aurelie shrugged. "And what of this? This argument is not anything I don't believe in as well, as much as I just fed into what you had to say. The entire point of what you have said is moot when I agree. We are not debating the secret, we are talking of your ridiculous reactions when I uphold my end of the bargain."_

_Having her concede to this forced him to concede in return as a favor._

_"You are upholding the bargain," he said. "A bargain I wish could be different, and in another time, it would have been. When I met you I did not believe the world would crumble again so quickly. I helped these leaders fight in July and I was celebrating our victory._

_"What I will not ascent to is that my reactions are ridiculous," Enjolras continued and gestured for her to sit once more. She did as she was bid, having now calmed a twinge. "What I fail to understand is how a woman as strong as any of those men allows herself to be talked to in such a way in the first place, let alone while in love with someone else."_

_"So it's jealousy?"_

_"It is a question of your love, Aurelie," Enjolras said, refusing the word however accurate it may be. "I feel that if you loved me you would not be shooing me off to a lonely girl across the room to flirt with while you flirt out of my hearing."_

_"Why not have a little fun?" Aurelie asked. "Or do you not know how to behave when fun enters the equation?"_

_"It seems we have a different opinion on what fun is," he responded tartly. "I'd rather indulge Joly in talks of Poland than indulge a lonely girl in flirtations."_

_"As would I," Aurelie agreed. "And if I'm being honest, I would have hated seeing you flirt. It's the secret that allows such fun and disallows us the right to be angry when the other acts accordingly."_

_"And you called my earlier point moot," Enjolras said, his eyes widening. "Take that honesty to the next level, my love, and admit that it's the secret that bothers you."_

_"But none of this is about the secret!" Aurelie cried. "This is about how you rose and told me that I will not allow that to happen again. Well, I will allow it for two reasons: it keeps our secret and I rather enjoy having words of love spoken to me in a public forum."_

_"And you have just nullified that this is not about the secret, as you've now said you wish for these words of love to be in a public place."_

_Aurelie knew when she was caught and took a second to think. No more, as she did not want to let him know he had gotten the better of her._

_"I enjoy the fun of it," she stated. "I accept that it will not happen from you. Again I must ask despite this how I have possibly left a door open for Bossuet. Are you intimidated?"_

_"Of course not!"_

_"Are you fearful that I may decide to follow him to his bed, as he takes so many mistresses to?"_

_"I couldn't imagine it," he said. "You're too strong."_

_She smiled. "Not strong enough, for you yourself have taken me as a mistress behind closed doors."_

_"No," he disagreed. "You are no mistress. You are my heartbeat and have never seen my bed, nor I yours."_

_"Precisely why I say that you should roll your eyes at your desperate friend and enjoy that I am in love with you. Perhaps you can even feel some pride that I am desired, yet you have won. Take it as a victory instead of fearing a loss, for you will not lose me."_

_"I cannot tolerate you flirting despite it," Enjolras stated firmly._

_"Well, you'll have to," Aurelie said with a shrug._

_"I will not," Enjolras said, taking this to a growl._

_"Then I rectify my earlier statement," she responded. "I will not tolerate a man telling me what I can and cannot do, even if he completes my soul. So allow me to revise: you will have to tolerate it, for I will not stop until you have staked a claim, or you lose me."_

_"You would honestly walk away from this sort of power—the magnitude of what we feel—to flirt!"_

_At this, it was Enjolras who rose, and Aurelie did the same._

_"You alone have the power to stop it," she said firmly. "You have two choices, and two only. You stand up and warn all those who come near me that you will not tolerate it because I am yours, or you shut up and deal with their advances because they do not know any better."_

_Widening his eyes, Enjolras was angry once more. This covered the emotion he did not want to feel:_

_Fear._

_"I'll say this one more time," Enjolras said through his teeth. "I do not like how you are spoken to, but the problem is with your responses. The third choice—and yes, there is a third—is on you. You can stand up and walk away."_

_"Then I'll say this one more time," Aurelie fired back, also through barred teeth. "I don't want to. I enjoy it, it helps our secret, and I've made my choice. It's up to you."_

_"If you are looking for a man who will shout his love from the rooftops, cupid misfired the day we met," Enjolras yelled._

_Wounded as she was, in the deepest pain she'd ever felt in her life, she smiled._

_So be it. Let him see if it was a misfire. She was above games, but perhaps their love needed a test so he could figure himself out. Was it worth losing him over? No, not in the slightest. But he was insecure in love and needed to find out where he stood, because he had been hovering in the middle, which was now clear to Aurelie._

_"Perhaps you're right," she said calmly. "Let's find out."_

_Enjolras stood there, stunned, as he watched Aurelie scoop up her purse and leave his apartment, unable to believe it was real._

_But it was. She had left him. And he was devastated._

* * *

What Benoit Does For Love

_It must be pointed out that, while Enjolras had not lived a charmed life by any means, he was not used to denial. It was easy for him to accept a hand that had been dealt, but fought against the cards removed. This would normally mean someone is spoiled, and perhaps he was a bit. He always commanded the ears of men with ease. He'd appreciated his hot meals growing up, the middle class wealth of his family. He'd received a good education with money he had worked hard for, which differentiated him from many who were considered 'spoiled', but he would have settled for nothing less. If he'd had to take hard labor despite his intelligence to pay for it, it would have been done with the same energy he put into every action he ever made._

_There were times he didn't win an argument, and even this was accepted because he left these debates with a strengthened resolve. That was the entire point, after all. He was in law school and hungry to learn, hungry to practice arguments, hungry to give the people a voice in this world._

_Because nothing had ever been handed to him, it was impossible for anything to be taken away. Spoiled insinuates that one gets all they want, and indeed he had, but it had all been earned._

_But in love you are powerless. Love cannot be earned if it's not there, but it can be solidified if it is. He had not imagined once that it could be taken away, and the love of his life had done just that._

_This is not to say Aurelie no longer loved Enjolras, it was very much the opposite. In absence, she loved him far more than she ever had because love was now teetering at the edge of a deep crevasse. She'd put the ball in his court, a gamble too great for even her strength to handle. There were too many times to count over the week that followed that she had considered giving it up and begging for mercy, accepting that he had control over her because love had gripped her too firmly._

_It was only determination that kept her where she was. When you have nothing left to fight with, determination is all that can push back._

_Again and again she'd ask herself: Is this worth it? Is it worth risking the loss of him over flirting with another man?! Absolutely without a doubt it was not!_

_But this was not about flirting. It had nothing to do with it at all. It was about proving her strength and where she would stand from here on out in their relationship. It was about him learning he could not order her. It was about him discovering how deep his love ran, and if it was not enough, she needed to learn that as well._

_They had to match each other on equal footing, and that was the case for both parties. Enjolras would never settle for a weak woman who could not stand on her own two feet, Aurelie would never settle for a man who pushed her around. It was important that they solidify where the middle was or all was pointless._

_It was agony for both parties._

_Benoit was left helpless. The life in his sister would shoot piss and vinegar in one moment, then melt to listlessness in the next second. She would not speak of what was wrong, she never had with him. She kept her secrets close. But he knew inherently that it was Enjolras who had made her ill, as was proven at the café a few days after their war when Benoit had seen him as apathetic as Grantaire. Nothing could rile him, and believe us here when we say Benoit tried very hard. He pushed all buttons he had: the economy, the monarchy, the caste system, the refugees from Poland, the history of France, the wars fought, the necessity for a republic. He would say exactly the opposite of everything they believed in and Enjolras would just stare at him through his brows in annoyance with his chin firmly tucked low._

_There were so many things wrong with this change. Benoit despised seeing his sister these days, despised what had become of her in this dark place her heart was now residing. But he had to take Enjolras into consideration as well. Brotherly instincts wanted to punch Enjolras in the jaw even if he had been in the right, and let us say here that it was equally possible in Benoit's eyes that his sister had done something ridiculous. But Enjolras consistently casual in pose, head hanging low as he'd eye the room in indignation, was equally as unacceptable as watching the life drain from Aurelie._

_It would have been amusing to him if they were put side by side, as they both behaved exactly as the other in posture and attitude. Defiant, vacant and dispirited._

_But he was not amused._

_"Perhaps you should head to Marmande," Benoit said to Aurelie one night._

_"And why would I do that?"_

_Benoit scoffed. "Because you're miserable here."_

_"_Here_ is not what makes me miserable."_

_He tried again another night, this time with more anger laced in, as he was fed up._

_"What exactly did you do?"_

_"I did what I must."_

_"And what was that?"_

_"I removed love from the equation," she said cryptically._

_Another night, there was another exchange, this one desperate:_

_"Why don't you just go talk to him?"_

_"Who?"_

_"Enjolras."_

_"For what reason?"_

_"To correct whatever went wrong."_

_"It's out of my hands."_

_Exasperated by the two, Benoit avoided them both. He stopped prodding and drank, gambled, spent an evening with a girl named Petra, tried very hard to avoid the apartment he shared with his sister until she was well asleep._

_"It's astounding how stubborn you are," he said to Aurelie two weeks after their war._

_"You grew up with me," she retorted._

_When he ran into Enjolras on his way home from his classes, something he'd been trying to avoid, he'd absolutely decided to take this to him. They could not match his anger at this point, and it was time to crack a whip and be done._

_"It's astounding how stubborn you are," Benoit said by way of greeting._

_"You know me better than that," Enjolras responded._

_Just like his sister._

_"Listen to me, Enjolras," Benoit said, gripping his elbow to be sure he'd stop and face him head on. Once eye contact was held for a second, Benoit shook his head. "I'm sending her to our cousin's."_

_And he meant it. It wasn't until he met Enjolras' eyes that he realized it needed to be done, but there were too many counting on him here. Yes, he wanted to lay him out for his sister's pain, but that didn't mean Benoit didn't love him like the rest. The city just wasn't big enough for two Enjolras'. Two Aurelie's._

_As much pain as Enjolras had been in, this felt like a bolt of lightning through his chest. He'd never felt a loss of air, but here he could not breathe. Aurelie was his oxygen; he could not live without it._

_But instead he scoffed._

_"Good luck trying that," he said with a clever brow. He knew Aurelie wouldn't let anyone else make up her mind._

_Benoit shrugged. "You know my sister, but not as well as I do," he responded with ease. "She may not like being told what to do, but she puts family over her happiness, always. If I tell her our cousins need her, that's all it will take to put her happiness aside. Not that she's happy right now. What you don't know is that we had men paraded around our house in Lavaur and she did as she was bid as a duty to our father. It was our father who sent them away, not her, and only because he knew this as well as I did. That she would always sacrifice for our family, and he would not force her into a marriage that would leave her miserable just out of duty."_

_Yes, Enjolras had been sobered._

_"You," Benoit continued. "She came to life around you. She's always been impossible but she found her ground here. I don't know who started whatever this is . . . probably her if I'd venture to guess. But understand this: you want a secret because you want to appear strong, but with her in close proximity you'll never be strong again. We can't take it in a time like this. What is happening with you now is worse than your secret, so pick yourself up. She'll be gone by the end of the week."_

_With a shaking hand, Enjolras ran his fingers through the golden locks at his forehead, his palm pressed firmly against his skin. He turned. Hesitated. Back to Benoit. Turn once more. He paced like this three times, then reared his hand back._

_He then punched Benoit in the jaw._

_Benoit laughed as he rose, recovering from the blow and wiping his lip. He checked his thumb for blood, found a little smear, then licked it away from his lip._

_"That's what I'm talking about," Benoit said through his chuckle, then punched Enjolras back. "And fair is fair. Figure it out or she's gone."_

_Enjolras was massaging his knuckles as he pursed his lips to the side in an exasperated smile, shaking his head and rolling his eyes. "I don't even know where to begin," he finally said._

_"Tell me about it," Benoit agreed with a chuckle. "I've no doubt she's difficult to love. We men need an upper hand and she never allows one. Worse . . . I don't want her with you, yet there is no one more suited. You both scare me in exactly the same way and I haven't the faintest idea how you'll ever get through it. That's why I'm saying figure it out. If you love her as much as I do, you've won the prize of Paris." He paused, then shrugged. "And a large headache."_

_"She's no headache," Enjolras said fondly. "There is no one more perfect in this world."_

_Benoit gestured toward Saint-Michelle with his head. "Perhaps you should tell her that."_

_Enjolras began to laugh, the first sign of life from him in weeks. "I should not have hit you, brother."_

_"No, I deserved it," he responded with a grin. "The threat was hollow. Well, mostly. I hadn't decided yet. But her dedication to family was no lie. Think about giving her a reason to have a duty to you, you'll be the better for it. She'll be easier to handle, and you'll come back to life. I thought you rather incredible before, but didn't know the extent of it until after the two of you met. You breathe life to each other."_

_Enjolras clapped Benoit on the back and squeezed his shoulder before the two walked back to rue Saint-Martin. And along the way, Enjolras asked, "Tell me about her suitors so I know the men I'm up against."_

_And along the way, Enjolras decided what needed to be done._

_The following night, Aurelie twirled her fork in the noodles on her plate while gazing sideways at the ceiling, her eyes hooded. It had begun as a roll of her eyes and paused halfway through the action, and Benoit began to laugh at her ridiculousness. After his boxing match with Enjolras yesterday, he was feeling quite a bit better. Well enough to enjoy her misery and make fun of it rather than feeling sick over her pain._

_"You should see what I'm looking at," he said, then called out across the tavern, "Where can I find a mirror?"_

_"Leave me be," Aurelie said snidely. "I just finished a long shift here; you'll let me grip my annoyance and exhaustion without troubling everyone else. Why are we up here, by the way?"_

_She gazed around the room for the first time since she'd sat down. She was the only woman on the second floor, which happened on those rare occasions, but she certainly did not want to be here. Especially with Enjolras across the room scolding Grantaire about his bad habits._

_The only reason she had even let Benoit drag her up here was because she hadn't seen him for a few days and she was interested in his state of mind. She'd hit the point where she accepted that nothing would change, but that didn't mean she wasn't heartsick. She would never be whole again._

_"I believe it's worth seeing what you're missing out on," Benoit said, speaking of Enjolras but not saying it outright._

_The eye roll finally completed its circle, and Benoit laughed again, unable to help himself. It had only been the last few days that she'd become melodramatic, something he'd never seen before from her. She was always so pulled together; a pillar of marble who could argue and laugh with the best of them while still maintaining the secrets of Mona Lisa._

_"If that's that, I believe I'll take my leave, as I've seen it all."_

_With this, Aurelie rose, leaving a full plate and an empty glass of wine. She rolled her shoulders so she would carry herself with poise, regardless of how miserable she was. She noted to herself that she was losing it and decided to straighten herself out here and now. Her display in front of her brother was absurd, and it was no use anymore._

_Just before the stairs, a hand caught her arm. When she turned and met Enjolras' eyes, they echoed a look of austerity._

_Oh yes, he still managed to make her body tingle with a simple touch, and it devastated her._

_Still she straightened further, if that was possible. But her brows had narrowed, tense against the enormous swell of despair. It was sheer torture._

_Slowly, Enjolras slid his hold down to her hand and offered a pensive smile. He maneuvered himself beside her and turned to the room._

_"My friends, I believe I have something worth sharing," he said proudly._

_He'd caught their attention, always able to command it without a yell. Most of the room turned to him, all motions halting, bottles removed from mouths, brows raised._

_Aurelie's heart began to palpitate and she stared at him in wonder. He met her eyes for only a second, but it was enough to communicate it all, everything he felt for her, his apologies, his undying love._

_Bringing her other hand to his, she gripped it tightly at his side._

_"No."_

_It was a whisper with an infinitesimal shake of her head. This was her concession. Her apology. Her undying love for him. None of it mattered anymore. She knew he was about to do it, it was no bluff, and the "no" was a plea._

_Enjolras had decided quickly yesterday what his course of action would be, and he was stunned that she'd vetoed the promise he'd made to himself. Silently, he asked with his eyes if she was sure._

_She was._

_"Mam'selle Aurelie and I actually agreed on something," he said pointedly. "I believe we've found common ground after our many debates, and let it be known here and now that I was wrong and she won the argument."_

_He smiled at her as he shrugged, and it had worked. He had told this to her quite clearly with his statement, and the guise had the men toasting them, sick to death of their heated debates._

_"Here here!"_

_"Let it be the first of many!"_

_"Enjolras, you're human after all!"_

_"If I had to hear of crop failures one more time I'd have hung myself from the window!"_

_The last was Bossuet._

_It's important to explain that their hand holding was viewed as a handshake and nothing more. Two contenders offering congratulations and condolences. But to Aurelie and Enjolras, it was quite different._

_And as the men turned back to their conversations—as Fueilly continued his passionate speech about Poland, as Joly shared a new thought on an experimental procedure, as Grantaire entertained three men with a story of a woman he'd been with the night before—as all of this took place, Enjolras leaned toward Aurelie's ear._

_"Marry me," he said._

_No, he had not thought long and hard about what he must do to make things right. Both ideas had struck him in seconds while walking with Benoit. He'd been ready to tell all, and he was now giving her a reason to stay. She was dedicated to family, and if she accepted, he would never have to question her dedication again._

_A smile crept across Aurelie's face, the first in two weeks._

_"I will."_


	7. Book Seven: In the Days Before the World

**BOOK SEVEN:**

**In the Days Before the World Changes**

* * *

There is Happiness to be had in Misery

The following days were all Aurelie had of a honeymoon. She remained happy, going through all the motions of life and willfully ignoring what was to come. Lamarque's funeral had been set for five days after his death.

The night of their wedding, Enjolras had insisted she come to his apartment near Bastille, just on the edge as the wealth became the poor of Saint Michel. There he insisted she would live with him as a wife should. She agreed, but did not move anything she owned, only herself, and only to retire for the night. She would bring a change of clothes so she wouldn't be seen exiting his place in the clothes she'd entered, not that people didn't wear the same clothing for days at a time, and not that any noticed her comings and goings. Still, she would return to her apartment to deposit the clothes and continue with her day.

In the wall, she hid her most valuable possessions: her money, her marriage certificate, and her jewelry. All jewelry but one: the chain she wore around her neck.

Enjolras, now having a chain of his own draped between the pockets of his vest, would mindlessly toy with it at times. He could feel it everywhere he went, just as he could feel Aurelie, always.

Life marches on because it has to. There is no stopping time and no returning to time lost. The best one can do is look forward. As Enjolras looked toward his insurrection, gathering all he could for the days to come, Aurelie marched on as his pillar of support. Neither denied what was to happen, but it was at night with each other that they feared what it would mean for the other.

These nights were more important than any ever shared before. No more debates, no more tirades, no more rallies. Every night was another night alive with the other: Enjolras certain of his death, Aurelie praying for his life. However these things went unspoken. Little was spoken at all. With a new character between the two, all they could do was express their love. What does an argument of a monarchy achieve in final hours before the uncertain? What does a debate of war matter when life is now a part of the equation? Debates are time fillers. Just as it was a time to act against the government, together, it was a time to act on their love.

And so it was done. Mind, body, heart and soul.

At a new dawn, a new day. Enjolras leaves to make sure the people are behind him, Aurelie heads to work at the Café Musain. Enjolras removes the watch from his pocket to be sure he's made it on time, Aurelie settles the chain when it's astray on her neck.

These are simple connections, and it's in these minutes they can feel the other, always.

There is happiness in this, just as there is happiness to be had in going through the motions before impending chaos. You don't realize how happy your life is until it is doomed to change, and so each moment is savored. And with only a few days left, these motions are what makes you realize how happy you are, and how happy you've been.

But this is only true for those who have purpose. Who have another day to live for. More than just another day older, and it was this reason Aurelie and Enjolras both knew that what was about to transpire was necessary, the outcome irrelevant. To give others hope when you have the fight in you to do so is happiness. To give a meal to the poor, a voice to the people, a change to the political climate, these are blessed things that gives a life meaning.

* * *

Putting Materials to Good Use

Possessions without a memory attached mean nothing. We like to think they matter, but given a choice, any man or woman would choose life and love over their belongings.

It was on the third day that Aurelie pried open the boards in her room to retrieve her prized possessions. What does a necklace mean when you will never replace the one you wear? Rings, broaches, hairpins. They all mean nothing. You cannot take them with you, you can only adorn yourself with your wealth, and when you do not wish to have any adornment at all, they sit in a wall, as Aurelie's had for two years.

She separated out the jewelry from her former life, leaving only two pieces that were her mother's. She could not offer too much money or there would be suspicion, but she retrieved a stack of paper francs.

It was not Enjolras she wanted to find, it was Marius. She did not want Enjolras to know what she was doing, as he'd have none of it.

Of course it took Eponine to find him, and when Aurelie located her, Eponine was able to lead her to the market without any sort of search. On the way, she was told that Marius was spending many hours here watching for Cosette. And to this, Aurelie could not figure out if she was disappointed in him for his lack of focus, or proud of him for pursuing love.

"Marius," she hissed. He was walking through the crowd, passing out pamphlets so he could pretend he was being useful still. If asked what he had accomplished on this day, he could say with honesty that he was still rallying the people.

He seemed astonished and ashamed at once to see Aurelie.

"I'm—" he began, then leveled his head. "I am trying to help. You see that, yes?"

Aurelie nodded. She would not share with Enjolras that Marius was pulling double duty.

"I am also trying to help," Aurelie said, then patted the little case she carried. Gesturing to the shadows, she said, "Come with me, Monsieur."

Dutifully, Marius followed her over to a brick wall. There she opened the case loaded with jewelry from her past life, along with a wad of francs. A thousand. Two, maybe. She'd never kept count of what she had, as they didn't matter to her. She hadn't touched them since they'd been given.

"Can you buy weaponry with this?" she asked.

Eyes strained, Marius said, "Aurelie, you shouldn't do this. You may need it—"

"I do not."

"Why take these to me?"

"Enjolras would turn them down."

Marius shook his head, astounded by the girl, more so every day it seemed. He could not speak.

"He needs the weapons and munitions," Aurelie stated. "Yet if they came from me, he'd insist I'd need these things for my life. I won't allow his double standard placed upon me. I'd rather have these things save his life than my own."

Having thrown in his fair share of the pot behind Enjolras' back, Marius could understand this. Marius and Aurelie shared the same background: a background of a title, wealth and the denial of a cent they had not earned themselves. Yet both had money, and neither would allow any to go to waste when it meant the lives of their friends.

"Can you trade this jewelry here?" Aurelie asked to cover Marius' silence. It seemed he refused to speak, so she continued on. "I brought it to trade for guns, which I cannot do. If you cannot, I will try to trade for metals to melt. But with these francs, I do not know what to buy. You do. If you have a way to find guns and swo—"

"He would kill us both if he knew," Marius said, shutting her case. He smiled at her. "It will never be a wonder to me why he loves you."

"I'd hope it's for love and not for what I provide now."

"This would only reaffirm his, not that he needs it."

"No, this would make him crazy," Aurelie said with a laugh, then handed the case over to Marius. "So do not whisper a word of this, ever. I know I cannot buy his life, but if I can offer up the lives of those who aim to hurt him, with this I'll have done my best."

Overwhelmed, Marius took her cheek in one hand and kissed the other. "I'll do everything I can."

"I know you will."

"I mean more than selling these things," he added levelly, addressing his internal promise to put himself in front of Enjolras if he was ever in danger.

"I know you do."

After a brief nod, they parted ways.

This is where everyone has the opportunity to take a role in a battle. If even a miser can toss in a ring, he has contributed. The bulk of citizens cannot wield weapons, but they can assist by placing their tin in a pot to make them. It is in this way that those who cannot fight aid those who can. Wood can raise barricades, metal can be refashioned into bullets.

By the night before Lamarque's procession, many cartridges had been made, weaponry secured. What was left was what people needed, and it was about to be thrown into the pot in these final hours.

Enjolras had just rounded the corner on rue Saint-Martin, where a crowd was gathered, young and old alike, with every age between. Everyone was ready for the morning and willing to pitch in what they could. These were people who needed the fight more than any. These were the slums. These were the people who had nothing and would still offer the clothes on their back if it meant a better life.

Leaning against the corner was Aurelie. She'd been waiting for him to return from the polytechnique, which would play a role that equaled those of the Les Amis. A student there named Lagrande had wild red hair with a bushy beard to match. He was brawny, and when placed side by side with Enjolras, it was clear who the Apollo was. But ideals unite, and Lagrande was serving as a general to the polytechnique. With Lamarque's cortege tomorrow morning, they'd been discussing the final details: who would give the sign, at exactly what point, if weapons would be drawn, if banners would be waved.

Upon Enjolras' presence, the street settled, turning to him for guidance.

Enjolras nodded firmly. "Everything is in place," he said. "Tomorrow is a new day."

His steps were taken with more purpose while Aurelie hovered at the corner, watching as people approached him. Questions were asked, handshakes were offered. Pats on the back, hats removed in respect. He wore nothing special: a linen shirt, black trousers, brown striped vest. But he appeared as a god, and those who surrounded him were paying tribute. They would sacrifice their many possessions tonight, and they would offer up their lives tomorrow.

"Our largest barricade is there!" Enjolras announced to the masses once he was just in front of the café. Courfeyrac was at his right, Joly at his left.

Aurelie's eyes widened upon finding Marius was nowhere in sight.

"Behind us, two barricades for either street," Enjolras continued. "Do not minimize their importance, but we give our best to the one ahead."

"Those who have silver left, bring it upstairs," Courfeyrac called. "It's time to finish off our munitions, and we will need everything you have."

Enjolras added his rally cry: "One more day before the people are given a voice! Tonight _we_ decide our fates! Who of you will take your place with me?"

The desired effect was achieved in magnitude as one and all shouted their cheers, many raising their fists up to the air. Cries of "Vive la France" and "Vive la republic" were echoed in the streets.

Enjolras' jaw set in determination and pride. Aurelie wasn't sure who of them felt more pride, as she was certain her pride in Enjolras and the people who surrounded her certainly had to measure more.

The Les Amis were the first to push their way through the café and up the stairs. Everyone else flooded any ground they could scrape up to help with the work or to drink their last before the storm. Aurelie was the final person who entered.

The second she'd entered, she saw the Jondrette's roaming hands over Feuilly's jacket, caught them surreptitiously snatch his pistol and hide it behind their backs while offering him the best of luck before he ran up the stairs.

Dashing over, her gaze on Madame Jondrette was murderous as she held her hand out to the woman. "You may do this any other time than tonight with a blind eye from me," she said with a clear tone, absolute warning.

Madame Jondrette swayed back and forth in mockery and annoyance as she held the pistol out to Aurelie. "You'll owe me for this, Mademoiselle," the woman drawled.

"No doubt," Aurelie said, her chin jutting forward. She dug in her pocket and fingered a coin. "Consider it bought, and in turn you'll buy my silence of this with your next actions."

She received an eye roll from the pair as they pushed themselves from the wall, and watched them closely until they'd sat down at a table. She'd have to keep an eye on them tonight.

Hurrying up the stairs with the other men of the Les Amis de l'ABC, she was ready to offer her assistance. The Widow Huchloup was helping Courfeyrac in melting down every utensil the café had with aqua fortis to fashion bullets, and Aurelie laid the pistol on a tabletop in front of them. Courfeyrac smiled at her with excitement and anticipation. This was what they'd been working toward, and while she couldn't understand how they could be so thrilled, she would allow it because she must.

She would not rest until there was nothing left to do.

There was only one moment when she caught Enjolras' eye as she cleaned the barrel of a gun beside Prouvaire, and for that split second, he formed one of his barely there smiles of approval, then immediately turned back to his map and planning. Those who would take the largest part had gathered around him as he mapped out the streets the funeral march would take, at exactly which point they would interrupt the procession, and how they'd make their escape back.

Aurelie had to strain to hear them, but listened intently. She would need to know these things, as there was no way she would not attend tomorrow. She would stick with the crowd and would work to go unseen. But if caught, he would know why she was there.

He would likely know she was there already, just as she knew when he was near, always.

An hour or so in, there was a loud commotion behind her, and Aurelie turned to find a Monsieur Marius, disheveled and desperate for breath. He'd drawn attention and scanned the many faces in the room. He snatched one of the red white and blue flags Maryse had sewn that read: _Republican Revolution no.127._

Straightening his back and gripping this proudly in his fist, he said with his eyes directly at Enjolras, "I've determined my place, and it's beside you. Let's show them the power we have."

Barely able to contain her smile, Aurelie swallowed heavily with a chin that trembled. When she turned to Enjolras, she found him lethargically close his eyes in relief, then nod firmly at Marius with tight lips. Enjolras had a way with silence that gave more approval than any words spoken. These nods were more poignant and important. Through this, she could see how worried Enjolras had been in regards to where Marius stood.

She drank a little when Grantaire slouched down beside her and offered her the bottle. After taking a long gulp, she pointed at him. "You should be helping, you little wretch."

Grantaire nodded in the way only a drunkard could. "Indeed I should," he agreed. "But I've come to find that no one trusts me with tasks around here. You have no idea the begging I had to do of Enjolras just to be sent to Barriere du Maine."

Aurelie raised a brow. "And what happened of it?"

"Why I gambled with them," Grantaire sang.

Aurelie could not help the laugh that escaped. "And you wonder exactly why you're not trusted with tasks, Grantaire? I believe you'll find that answer in the response you just gave."

She saw him glance at Enjolras with a look of longing, then take a swig from the bottle. It wasn't pity Aurelie felt, though his drinking was certainly pitiful. It only made her sad for him, the drinking a direct result of the impossibility of it all.

She also caught Enjolras look at Grantaire with the same look of pity for the man that she'd just offered.

"Well, I trust you, Grantaire," Aurelie said solidly, and placed the musket in front of him with the brush. "Clean this, and I know you will clean it well." She looked at him pointedly. "For him," she added.

Grantaire took the weapon with reverence, his eyes wide as though she'd just presented him with all the gold in the land. "I will," he stated with pride, however slurred. He then eyed her levelly. "I believe only in him, Aurelie."

"I know it."

He nodded, then set to carefully working on every detail of the gun.

It was a gun she'd just finished cleaning.

They were at this until the sky turned a lighter shade of purple. It was then that Enjolras made the announcement that it was time for all to rest, though only watched as the second floor began to clear. Aurelie feared approaching him, but he had circles under his eyes that craved her comfort. It was known well enough that she was a friend to them all, and everyone adored her, so she walked over to where he was adjusting a pistol.

There was just enough space beside him that she didn't have to elbow in, the room now clearing out. She had been the last woman to stay behind for to help them finish, and was now surpassing the dedication of even some of Enjolras' lieutenants who had disappeared for rest.

"I will pray for you tonight, Monsieur," she said, loud enough that it was aimed at Enjolras by her eyes, aimed at all with her words.

When Enjolras looked at her, there was meaning behind it. A farewell and deep love passing between them from eye to eye.

"I thank you very much, Aurelie, for your work tonight," he responded sincerely. This tone the same used to each who had bid him good night thus far.

"And I thank you tonight for yours tomorrow," she replied. "Good night to you, Monsieur."

Completely on accident, he gripped Aurelie's shoulder as she turned to leave, finding he wanted to stop her. Keep her at his side. Never let a moment pass without her there again. His eyes darted around, and he found Courfeyrac and Marius were looking his way as they assembled and loaded muskets. He and Aurelie had been the only voices over the last few minutes, so the conversation was inevitably noticed.

This touch lingered before he decided to put it into a perfectly natural action and gently pulled her toward him whilst leaning forward. "A good night to you, Mam'selle," he said, then kissed her cheek.

Yes, it had been said that Enjolras' lips had never touched anything but food or drink, but no one thought of that in this moment: this was a typical greeting or parting between close friends.

But because it had been said so many times, it registered with Aurelie. This was the first time anyone had seen his lips touch another, whether those around her thought of it or not. And while they may not be thinking of this action as unique—while it would likely be forgotten in the next second—it was a moment for her to remember.

She backed up in more of a daze than she liked, grabbed her skirt in a curtsey, then ventured toward the stairs.

"Good night, Marius," she said as she passed him.

"Good night."

"Good night, Combeferre."

"Good night, Aurelie."

"Good night, Courfeyrac."

"Pleasant evening to you, Mam'selle."

Patting poor drunken Grantaire, she gave him a mocking smile as she curtsied low to the ground in a playful way. "You'll sleep better if you finish that bottle, Grantaire."

Chuckles were heard through the room.

"Good night, Bossuet."

"I'm still in love with you, Mam'selle," Bossuet called, cupping his hand around his lips.

The laughter was far louder and the first lively moment in a few hours. Even Aurelie laughed, though she knew how much Bossuet's cat-calling at her bothered Enjolras.

"I'll pray for your safe return," she responded, then wagged her finger at him. "But not to my arms!"

This was all done to cover for Enjolras' mistake and make it as natural as breathing.

On the first spiral back of the staircase, she could see his lingering annoyance over Bossuet's teasing; lips pressed together to an outline of white, chin prominently set forward, eyes narrowed.

And were they not loading weaponry, this picture was the same as any other night she'd been here.


	8. Book Eight: The Riot in Bastille

**BOOK EIGHT:**

**The Riot in Bastille**

* * *

There are Ways to Hide

It was only a few hours later that the sun became too bright to go ignored, and her sleep had been restless and deep at the same time. She'd stirred plenty of times, but a few minutes would go by when she was dead to the world.

And when she fully woke, Enjolras was holding her against his body.

It would be the last time in her life she would wake up beside him.

An odd moment of clarity when one sees the future, though not the how or why. And the thought passed as quickly as it had come, and went unremembered.

"Enjolras," she whispered, then rolled to her back.

He was wide awake, had not closed his eyes with the exception of a blink. He did not feel tired, he felt anxious. Instead he'd spent two hours in silence worshiping Aurelie and their child as she slept. He'd watched her toss and turn; at one point cry out. Knew he had done this to her and was haunting even her dreams.

Now that the sun had fully risen, it was a new dawn, and with that came knowing he'd not think of her much again. It was only in rest that she would cross his mind, and he'd made up for the time lost by spending hours with only her in his head.

But he would not have the chance again to hold her until the future was certain. And so he'd prayed to his god: Aurelie.

"Can you feel it?"

Aurelie didn't know what he meant. Shook her head to tell him so.

He kissed her lips. Savored them, as he did not know if he would kiss them again.

"It's a new day," he said, his forehead to hers. "It's the people's day."

She smiled softly at him. "France knows," she said.

He was gone too quick, and Aurelie allowed it. After all, this had been the first morning she'd woken with him beside her. The break in routine changed everything, and Aurelie, inexplicably, viewed it as a bad omen.

This she made a choice to bury, as she would not allow her thoughts to doom him already. Today he was alive. Today he was safe. Today he was hers still, and even in his absence, it was another minute knowing he graced this earth. Another minute of their love.

The procession would begin at noon, and after bathing, Aurelie walked to rue de Saint-Michel. Despite exhaustion, she was happy, melancholy, excited and trepid. The day had arrived and no pure reaction would suit, so she felt them all.

Upon arriving with her little cloth carrier, she noticed the street was unusually quiet. Few people remained; the café that usually bustled with business was shut down entirely. She'd expected a somber mood, but had not expected everyone to take to Bastille. She figured there had to be the elderly and the young somewhere, but upon entering the café, it was silent.

On the second floor, she found piles of weaponry: guns, cartridges, swords. The flags had been taken with them to the procession.

It was a surreal experience, and she left with a shudder to deposit her bag in her apartment so she could head off to Bastille. The cortege would begin at Lamarque's residence and make a long journey through the streets of Paris. It was at Bastille they would interrupt the procession because it was apt. Bastille was where the revolution had begun over forty years ago.

While walking to her building, her arm was snagged from behind and she turned, ready to swing in the case of danger.

"Are you coming?" Eponine asked.

Aurelie instantly relaxed.

"I am."

"Do you need to hide?"

"I will not hide."

"I think you should."

"Whatever for?"

Eponine laughed. "For Enjolras."

"I have no doubt he expects me to be there."

"And he allows it?"

"He does not have any say in it."

"But what would he say if he had one?"

"I'm not interested in his opinion on the matter."

Wisely, Eponine narrowed her eyes as her lips pursed to the side. "If you do not hide, he will be distracted. But I have a way."

Peculiar and perceptive. Recognizing both equally, Aurelie thought about the day. Eponine had said the magic words: _he will be distracted_.

"Give me a few minutes to deposit my bag upstairs," Aurelie said, her head a fog as she tried to think this through. "I'll be with you soon."

"Come see me in my room if you wish," Eponine replied with a shrug. "But I'll be leaving soon, so nice and quick now."

There was no question of her attendance, but the very idea that she could serve as a distraction was something to consider. Up in her room, she thought about Enjolras' annoyances with Marius, but that was a different beast. She would be supporting him fully, not turning her back with a distraction of her own.

But taking into consideration that she knew he didn't want her near what could happen was a distraction of itself. They'd spent two years sharing the same ideology, so the concept of her taking a back seat now was ludicrous. That being said, these were young men fighting a war, and women are to stay safely aside. If they help, they are nursing those wounded well behind the front lines.

Aurelie planned to be at the procession, and she would not leave the barricade. She did have a child forming inside of her, and if it looked bleak, she would run to protect it. Enjolras may disagree with the timing if such an event occurred, but they would absolutely agree that Aurelie must protect their child.

Of course, Enjolras would take that a step further and insist she protect her life as well. Had no child been in the equation, he would still demand it while she'd fight him off.

And herein lies the root of the problem. Enjolras would not want her near any danger regardless of a child. She did not care of his opinion on the matter, but it was because of this that Aurelie knew, if caught, he would hesitate for her.

He could not hesitate.

So Enjolras would view the timing differently, and it was only now that his opinion mattered. Together they had a duty to protect their child, but even alone he would have felt a need to protect.

It hadn't once been considered, and now it was all that mattered. She would be there, she would offer assistance and support. If he died, she would see it with her own eyes. But if Eponine had a way for her to see without him seeing her, it would make things easier on him. He needed to fight his war, lead his lieutenants. She'd told her brother he needed soldiers, not a woman. If she could hide, she could be both: his soldier and his love.

She could feel him when he was near, as he could feel her, always. But she could minimize the distraction.

Rushing from her room, Aurelie dashed up the stairs of the apartments on rue de la Chanvrerie behind the tavern. Up top, Eponine had an attic room with no door. Mattress, dresser; that was all.

Eponine, mostly nude.

"I'm sorry," Aurelie said, skewing her eyes to the side while holding a hand up to block the girl.

"You're fine," Eponine responded.

When Aurelie opened her eyes, she took in Eponine. She wore men's trousers and was wrapping a strip of her bed linins around her chest while sitting on her bare mattress, done diligently and done well. Her breasts were now covered, which was more than she'd seen when taking the last of the stairs.

"You said you had a way to go unnoticed," Aurelie said levelly.

Eponine grinned, though it was still extremely sad. She rose from the bed, taking the blanket shreds with her, and walked over to a shoddy table with drawers. Opening the bottom one, she retrieved a bundle of clothes and tossed them to Aurelie.

"Today we are boys," she said, and Aurelie's chin tucked into her neck. She let the garments fall from her arms, though still clutching an end of each. Her right held a white shirt, her left a pair of trousers. A vest had fallen to the floor.

She was struck in the face by a flying object and had to drop what she held to catch it on its way down. It was a cap, and when she looked at Eponine, she found her laughing.

Stunned as she was, she also found herself impressed.

"Let me fasten that for you," she said, instantly in motion. While not the smartest of women, Eponine was a master of trickery and had stumbled across a brilliant idea. Aurelie was fully aboard.

Eponine craned her neck and looked over her shoulder. "Pins on the table."

Aurelie snatched up two and fastened the cloth in the back. She then stepped away to view her handiwork, found Eponine's breasts as flat as a man's chest.

It took no more than a second for her to rip her clothes from her body. She was not ashamed in this, as she certainly should have been. It was a necessity, and today, they were boys.

Eponine assisted in wrapping Aurelie while Aurelie quickly slid into the brown trousers. They were loose, though nothing she couldn't work with, and she snatched up a pin to tighten the side.

When they'd finished, they looked each other over.

"Well, you do look like a boy," Eponine said. "I didn't expect it to work on a beauty like you, but you've managed it."

Aurelie gripped her hair in a fist and balled it on the back of her head. "Do you have hairpins?"

Eponine pushed things around on the tabletop and came up with a small handful. Aurelie diligently set to pinning every stray hair atop her head. There was no mirror here, so she had no idea if she'd achieved the desired effect, but when she looked at Eponine, Eponine certainly had.

Placing the cap on her head, she pinned it even though no man would have to. It was necessary that it stay put over the long blond hair that wished to toss it off. Cradling the back of her head, she looked at Eponine apprehensively. "Is it right?"

"Not with your stance," Eponine said through a low chuckle. "Do you own a mirror?"

Aurelie straightened her posture to appear stronger. Like a man. "A cracked one, yes."

Eponine grinned with delirium.

They dashed down the street to Aurelie's building and made their way up the stairs. Few people were left in the area, so they didn't worry as much as they would have had to on a regular day. Once up in her room, Aurelie took herself in.

Yes, she was very much a boy. Her features were feminine, but what boys weren't? It was only when they became men that features grew masculine. And with flat chests and women's bodies, they could easily be mistaken for a teen.

"We should hurry, Aurelie," Eponine said as she looked upon an empty street.

Aurelie agreed, but she too noticed the empty street below in a different way. She had reason to hide, could not understand why Eponine did. Many men and women were off on the route the funeral cortege would take through Paris. She hid so she would not distract, and sad as it is to say, Eponine would not draw an eye.

Deciding her reason did not matter, Aurelie chose to view it as simply a means to an end and put the questions aside. Whatever they were, Eponine had her reasons, even if it was just her madness.

* * *

Sparks Beget Flames

Place de la Bastille was quiet on this overcast morning, the Elephant of the Bastille still standing unfinished for the greater part of two decades. This was where it would begin, and here because this was the flashpoint that kicked off the French Revolution. Bastille would once again flood with angry citizens for the republic, taking to the streets for freedom.

Eponine navigated her way through the crowd as only a street urchin could, weaving and bobbing without notice. Aurelie trailed behind trying very hard to remain unaffected, however awestruck she felt.

"Here," Eponine said, turning to Aurelie. She ducked low and managed to squeeze to the front of the crowd, the street open and empty while they waited.

Aurelie stood beside Eponine with her chin tucked low in hopes the cap would obscure her features and she'd go unrecognized. Though upon gazing around, she didn't see anyone she knew.

Until she did.

Across the way and only ten meters or so up the street, Enjolras stood alone. His chin, she noticed, was also tucked, though not for the same reason. His jaw was set in determination, his eyes calmly searching the faces in the crowd, and she knew his thoughts were only on the reception they would receive.

She was no doubt already playing out all outcomes through her mind, and placed herself in his head to follow his thoughts. Still hiding herself, she scanned each face across the street, and with this, she was able to pick out many of the men she'd seen with Enjolras, though few of them stood together. They speckled the crowd as to not bring attention to themselves.

Between these soldiers she saw despair. These people here . . . every one of them had a reason to join the fight whether they knew it was about to happen or not. Everyone here came out of respect for Lamarque, which meant they held the same ideals.

It was only then that she could make out the faces of those who were born to blend in. Those of Place Saint Michel who had been forgotten and forsaken by their King. They did not stand out, but they were individuals who needed more from life. And in this she knew the strategy. She knew that once more Enjolras was correct with all; timing and setting both. Perhaps God did work through him.

The Marquis de Lafayette took to a podium and spoke poetic words of Lamarque to the masses below. He shared his experiences with Lamarque, relayed his own time fighting under George Washington in The United States during their revolutionary war. Lamarque had declined a dictatorship for France in the 1830 election, instead having supported Louis Philippe.

He was interrupted:

"Long live the Republic!"

"Long live the Polytechnique!"

"Lamarque to the Pantheon! Lafayette to the town hall!"

These cries broke through the silence of the street, interrupting and confusing Lafayette until the Marquis was rushed from his podium and to his carriage below.

A new chaos was beginning however: the hooves of horses, the rhythmic steps of a march, and Aurelie turned only her eyes up the street to see the enormous black hearse first. In front, two battalions with drums across their chests, behind, thousands of National Guards. They had swords, Aurelie saw as they began to pass. The hearse was still far in the distance, and around it she noticed the uniformed officers of the Les Invalides: Napoleon's men. It seemed this procession did not end; it stretched around the world.

Turning back to see what had come of Lafayette, she found his carriage near. The guards—guns holstered, swords in sheaths—calmly parted in half near the bridge so Lafayette could make a swift escape for fear of the people.

A shudder rocked her body; a bolt of fear. She had her paramount strength beneath it, and it had only lasted for a split second, but she knew this was where it would begin. Truly begin.

And then it began.

Suddenly it was happening all too fast. Aurelie fluidly scanned the crowd until her eyes met Enjolras at the exact moment he stepped into the street with his red flag, his sign to the people that the time was now and there would be no other. There was no turning back, and he shouted: "Citizens, now is the time to take your life from the King's hands! Raise your voices to the sky, as we now mourn the man who spoke for us! Who of you will be strong and stand by me? Vive la Republique!"

It was a very long moment that Aurelie waited for the shot from a rifle; Enjolras frozen in the street alone. She knew when she didn't hear it that her thoughts had been at the highest of speeds, that no more than a second had gone by. Less, maybe.

In the next second, Marius joined Enjolras' side, and they were between the hearse and a thousand uniforms.

"Join in the fight that will give you the right to freedom!" Enjolras hollered, then lifted his flag toward the heavens spectacularly like an arrow and waved it to and fro in the wind. He held strong with Marius at his side, and Aurelie noticed first that no one else had moved.

Aurelie perceived another standstill, but with how her eyes darted, the lack of motion around her was as still as a painting in The Louvre.

Once again, no more than a second had passed while Aurelie had frozen.

Entwined in the crowd: those singles in the crowd—the faces she'd recognized as Enjolras' compatriots—became Enjolras' army. They joined him one by one, and it was not just at the hearse. It was up and down the entire street as far as she could see, men and women alike stepping from the crowd of the masses as individuals who would fight for their freedom.

It took a shove from behind for Aurelie to notice that Eponine had run to join them as one of the fighters, and it was only then that Aurelie understood her need for a disguise. She would fight alongside of them as any man would, but no woman could.

Eponine was what Aurelie could not be.

She didn't dare call Eponine's name as another man pushed by her, but would not stand here alone and lost in the many faces of rioters. Just as she began to fall forward from a shove, she had her feet in action to catch herself before she was planted on the ground, and took this propelled motion to launch herself at Eponine.

It was then that she ran into Enjolras from another thrust, and she shirked away from his red jacket while staring at him in horror.

Enjolras knew Aurelie was there, somewhere. Wished he'd thought to order her to safety before he'd left this morning, but it hadn't stuck him until he'd stood at the edge of the street, feeling a presence that was undeniable, always. He had scanned the faces of those around him. He studied them for their resolve and determination, but looked for Aurelie. Once unable to locate her, she was forgotten.

Until now. And he didn't know why she'd suddenly registered while in the midst of their protest. He glanced down at the boy who had run into him, saw only a cap before the boy had backed away while grabbing the hand of another.

Gently closing his eyes, he inhaled to find some repose, as the idea of Aurelie in a riot was dizzying. He knew the two paths these people would take: men who would fight with honor and men who would riot with none. It was the latter he had to fear, as they would be undisciplined and many terrible fates could befall Aurelie if caught in the midst of their violence.

Enjolras found it was much harder now to remind himself how strong Aurelie was now that she carried his child. Amidst any chaos before, they would grin madly in exhilaration at the other while separated by the masses.

He had to will her away. And with his exhale, he rejoined the scene with more vigor than before to compensate for a momentary lapse in focus.

Marius had begun an ascent to the top of the hearse, and Aurelie watched Enjolras bravely scale the side until he stood where the coffin was draped with a flag. The hearse was still in motion, though it travelled with more urgency despite its lack of speed; its destination the bridge ahead where the National Guards were pushing people away, though they'd yet to draw a sword. They were a barricade in themselves and the hearse needed to escape.

Chants formed with the occasional shout of freedom while Aurelie paced alongside the hearse, unable to look at anything other than Enjolras. She did not scan for guns aimed his way, only wanted her eyes on him if he was met with a bullet. She did not care for the report, only cared for the second it would strike him.

But no shots were heard. No commands were given other than by the people, and Enjolras and his comrades leapt from the hearse the second it was able to make its escape over the bridge. It was swallowed from view as the National Guard returned to formation.

There they were face to face with the uniforms, and for the hundredth time in the last hour, Aurelie's heart ceased to beat.

Enjolras was not intimidated, not in the least. Exhilarated, possibly, though what word could be used to describe this? His heart beat madly as he stood in front of the many men who could kill him at any second, and he welcomed their swords, taunting them with his posture. He grinned, eyes wild and ready. He'd been born for this.

The world around Enjolras dulled for Aurelie. Surrounding him were colors that held the same fuzzy quality of cotton, and the chants began to fade in the distance. He had his back to her, shoulders proud, fists down in defiance. He was all she could see. Just him and the sea of blue; the coats of the National Guard.

Until one man. One single man dressed in blue. One member of the National Guard stepped forward.

Aurelie promised herself that if he was to die, he would die with her eyes upon him.

He stepped forward while gripping the handle of his sword in its sheath.

Aurelie inhaled.

The steel was freed from the scabbard.

She did not blink.

Enjolras was ready for death, but this was not his time. He felt it in his core. Knew it the second before the man changed his hold on the sword from the handle to the blade. Perhaps it had been in the man's eyes, or how the corner of his mouth tried to form a smile. He did not read violence. He read trepidation and resolve.

The sword was offered to him. Enjolras did not take it, though someone near him did. He would not remove his daring eyes from the men before him, but he did nod in the man's direction; a salute of honor and gratitude. Enjolras' gaze, impossibly, grew more challenging as he rapidly eyed the individuals.

What these individuals saw was a judge. All gripped the handles of their sheathed swords; the very bravest withdrawing them without an order from their generals.

Only they were withdrawing to hand them over.

They were joining him. Enjolras had managed to command the men in blue coats, as one by one, many offered him their swords and guns. He took none, Aurelie saw, but he paid each of them a nod. It was no more than fifty out of the thousand, but it was enough to win a smaller battle. Enough to scramble the scene and leave the generals struck with fear and confusion, not knowing how to respond and react.

The generals did nothing. But one soldier, a frightened boy younger than her twenty years, drew his bayonet from the sea of blue coats. It was fired at Enjolras, but missed, piercing the breast of a woman beside Aurelie.

She did not blink.

She did, however, realize it could have been either of them. Her eyes widened at Enjolras, Enjolras' eyes at the woman. They then met Aurelie.

Enjolras is Distracted

She knew she was caught, but this was not a time to care. She fell to her knees before the woman, who stared into her soul, her mouth begging for forgiveness as she clutched Aurelie's arm. A trickle of blood left the corner of her lips and began to run down her chin. In a daze, Aurelie didn't correlate the dying woman with the blood, only that this woman should die with dignity. To achieve this, Aurelie slipped her hand into her sleeve and wiped the blood away.

"Shh," Aurelie whispered, soothing her with a soft gaze of love. Petting the woman's hair, she said, "Rest now. Now you are safe."

"She's an innocent woman!"

"Murderers!"

Enjolras waivered for a second as he saw Aurelie tend to the dying woman, his thoughts disseminated. To cover for his confusion and reign the men in, he raised a flag into the air with one hand while drawing his pistol in the other.

"To arms!" he ordered, and the echoes those words carried left the mouths of all who surrounded them in agreement. "To the barricades!"

There were injuries by the hands of friends as the people pushed and shoved their way from the scene to take to their faubourgs to build their barricades. Men and women fell to the pavement. Still not a gun fired, but the metal clanging of swords was heard, hooves of horses chasing people down.

Aurelie felt a grip on her arm and shrugged it off. She would not leave this woman until her last breath, ghastly as it was. The hand began to lift her. "No!" she screamed without looking up, again fighting this threatening grasp.

She held the woman's eyes until the soul exited, and still she would not move.

Enjolras yanked Aurelie up to her feet with one arm, despite her muscles protesting, her arms thrashing, her legs kicking. Somehow he had acquired the physical strength of three men to raise her flailing body away. Her hat fell to the ground and her golden hair released against his jacket. Still he pulled her, adjusting his grip on her arm to curling his own around her waist to lift her protesting feet from the pavement.

Screaming, Aurelie tried to free herself from her captor without leaving the eyes of the dead woman on the street, even as people tripped over her body. She hadn't known her, however she felt unable to leave her here, deeply connected from their eye contact in the woman's final breath.

The only thing that returned her attention to the scene around her was the only voice who could command it.

"Aurelie, no," Enjolras barked into her ear. She gave up her fight and spun around, though done with a final shove away from him. Still defensive in posture, Aurelie hunched low, facing off with him.

He looked into her eyes with a rage; he'd nearly lost her. A little to the right and it would have been Aurelie's breast pierced by the bullet, not this woman. He couldn't decide if he wanted to strike her or embrace her in his arms to shield her from the violence around them.

He did want to kill the man who had taken aim. The soldier had missed his target; nearly hit a target far more valuable than his life.

It was time to fight fire with fire.

And so it was done. This was the shot that began the war, not the riot, and gunfire echoed this first shot minutes later from the insurgents in the streets. Enjolras had calmly aimed at the boy, squinted his eye, then fired a bullet that killed him cleanly.

There is a serenity in rage, and this was the only way Enjolras was able to reload. Gun near his cheek again, he spun Aurelie around and pushed her in the direction of Place Saint Michel, eying everyone in close proximity in challenge. Warning them that with Aurelie, he was deadly. "Stay with me," he told her, an order not to be disobeyed.

_Wrath had spread abroad the riot as wind spreads a fire_, and he kept her within arm's reach while ready to shoot any man dead who dare come near them.

Aurelie froze as officers on horses rode toward them, their swords drawn. She saw a citizen hit with the sword, though not cut. The one that followed was sliced clean through. She felt the grip on her shoulders and was shoved out of the way to see Enjolras take careful aim and fire, knocking one soldier off his horse. The next fell only a meter in front of them from his second pistol, the horses running on through the riot.

"Come!" Enjolras yelled, beckoning her with his hand. "Now, Aurelie!"

She took his hand and was once again shielded by him as they ran. Furniture fell from the windows above, crashing into pieces below them, and it was no small miracle the pair passed through without being hit from the sky.

Ahead she saw Marius had commandeered one of the horses and rode on, clearing the path for them. They were alongside their comrades now: Courfeyrac, Bossuet, Bahoral, Prouvaire . . . and with them the many who resided in Place Saint Michel. They were no longer fighting the waves, they were sailing with them.

* * *

The Barricades Arise

Throughout Paris, the key strategic points Enjolras had secured were creating their barricades and raising their flags proudly, ready to fight for what they believed in. There is nothing like the bustle of a riot, and the city had become mad with angry men and women. In less than an hour, 27 barricades stood as protection for the insurgents. The riot may be maddening, but the barricades had been carefully planned, and once they had risen, those ready to fight properly and with honor were fully organized.

At Saint Michel, furniture cascaded to the pavement from every window, then was neatly stacked by all, even those who would hide in the buildings while the men fought below. There are ways everyone can contribute, and like last night, together they built the barricade. Even those who would hide did not want the death of their protectors.

Aurelie was swiftly deposited in the threshold of the café, quite literally shoved by Enjolras' grip on her bicep. Instead of wincing in pain or feeling fear, she rolled her eyes in annoyance. Their timing of her protection was off; she did not need his right now, yet he had an urgent need for her to run, enough so that he was angry.

Grantaire was sitting intimately with Maryse as they shared a bottle of wine until Enjolras shot him a glare, his anger now magnified. "Enough of your nonsense now, it's starting," he warned Grantaire. Suddenly sobered at this, Grantaire pitched in to help with a flourish, including removing the Widow Huchloup from her chair the only way he knew how; gripping her cheeks in his hands, planting a kiss that had her rising, then snatching the chair out from under her.

When Enjolras had run outside to bark his orders, Aurelie instantly stormed through the door of the café and walked to her building.

A minute later she was in her apartment and, using all her strength, managed to toss out everything she could lift on her own. Possessions without a memory mean nothing. Possessions that could save the love of her life meant everything, and as they crashed onto the pavement, she smiled proudly that these things were put to good use.

One of the residents noticed her struggle with the mattress and ran to give her hand. They worked out her dresser, bedside table, and a wardrobe. Her chairs had been lifted on her own, and she looked around the empty room, pleased. Today her room was meant to be empty.

From there, she aided other rooms. In one above hers, she found a cap and replaced the one she'd lost, then left and made a run for the back barricade, out of Enjolras' sight. It was astonishing how everyone worked together. Neighbors were suddenly bonded over a common goal of securing all that was dropped.

The initial rise was easy; it was making it to the second story that took real work. Behind her, carriages had been toppled over as the barricade's base, trunks and such being lifted on top of them. Their main barricade was the most important and it was steadily reaching the second floor of the buildings that surrounded it.

Under an awning, a makeshift door was built as a way to sneak in and out, no wider than two people side by side. Beside this, some men had magically managed to move a wooden staircase completely intact. Enjolras directed most of the work while hovering over their cartridges and handing one to each of his men as they passed by.

Aurelie walked back over to the café to help, where items were still being thrown from the windows. Just as she was entering, she heard from above, "Watch out below!" and looked up just in time to see a carbine tossed down.

She caught it and defiantly walked over to Enjolras, who took it from her without noticing it was she who gave it to him.

A throng of men came to join late, having broken into a curiosity shop along their journey and carried guns and swords in their arms. Enjolras thanked them and added the weaponry to their stockpile. He was taking inventory, something that had been done twenty times before. When someone would lean down to ask him a question, he'd give a quick order, then continue on.

When he rose, he saw Marius above him in the window of the café. Marius' eyes were wild with excitement. Enjolras nodded, offered a little tilt of his head to the side to say: _Yes, it's finally happening, and this is the way it should be._

Once everything had been thrown out from above, save for a few tables and chairs up in the café that were deemed too worthless to add to the pile, women retreated to the safety of their walls.

Men who would not fight once all was said and done remained to rip up cobblestones and stack them, which would be used when they had nothing left to fight with.

"I need a volunteer!" Enjolras called above the madness, pointed down the street. "Someone who can find out their plans and when they will attack!"

Gavroche ran to him and tugged his arm. "At your service."

"Very good," Enjolras said with a nod. "Listen well to the whispers and let us know. Hurry back."

Gavroche held his hand out.

"You're not looking for a coin, are you?" Enjolras demanded, his eyes widened at the boy.

"A musket! I want a musket! Why won't anyone give me a musket?"

Gavroche, Aurelie had noticed earlier, had been moving from man to man demanding more than a pistol to wield, and in response, he'd received disbelief, a scoff, then had been shooed away.

There was no keeping back the chuckle in Enjolras, but he shrugged. "When there are enough to go round the men, we'll start handing them out to boys."

To this, little Gavroche rammed his pistol in his waistband and turned away, firing back: "If you're killed before me, I'll take yours!"

"Brat!" Enjolras hollered after him, but grinned, amazed by his insolence.

Aurelie joined his laughter as she heard Gavroche yell back: "Novice!"


	9. Book Nine: Tendrils of Love

**BOOK NINE:**

**The Tendrils of Love and the Horrors of Hate**

* * *

Enjolras' Acrimony

With the last of furnishings in place, Enjolras and Marius climbed to the highest point of the main barricade to wait out the calm before the storm. In the distance: glass shattering, hollers, a few chants, a few shots. All rioters, none with honor.

Otherwise, all was quiet.

Aurelie sat against a pillar in the shadows, no work left to do, only a contemplative watch. She listened to the men around her joke and tease, and soon was joined by Eponine, still in her boy's attire as well.

"I saw you shoved around like a little girl," Eponine noted sideways.

Aurelie groaned, still angered by the manhandling she'd received. However she would not let Eponine's remarks get to her, as she knew there was no malice behind them. She hated to internally quote Napoleon, but the phrase came to mind anyways: _Never ascribe to malice that which can adequately be explained by incompetence._

"I saw you bravely join them as a man ready to fight," Aurelie replied.

Eponine swallowed. "I will die with Marius."

"I believe in you."

Eponine bit the inside of her cheek until she could taste the blood. "And will you die with Enjolras?"

"I have determined we will not die," Aurelie responded with a calm raise of a brow.

She then felt Eponine grip her forearm and turned her eyes to the girl, seeing desperation. "You will stay beside me?"

Aurelie nodded.

"I will."

Grantaire stumbled out of the tavern in this early hour. He joked with Joly and Bossuet at the foot of the main barricade.

"Shut up, you wine cask!" hissed Courfeyrac, to which Grantaire drunkenly slurred:

"I am Capitoul, municipal magistrate of Toulouse and master of flower games!"

The babble of absinth.

Enjolras finally looked down, his face austere, his musket raised from watch to sky.

"Grantaire!" he yelled. "Go and sleep off the booze away from here. This is the place for intoxication, not drunkenness. Do not dishonor the barricade!"

It was only when Enjolras was truly angry that Grantaire felt profoundly wounded, and these sorts of words would sober him quickly. In this, he felt his shame for drinking, drinking of course as a result of his hopeless plight. Though Grantaire brought harsh words upon himself with his baiting for attention, Aurelie never liked to hear Enjolras turn on him with anger. The poor man was lost.

Grantaire had hesitated before returning to the café, and to look Enjolras in the eyes the way one gazes upon a lover.

"You know I believe in you."

"Go away," Enjolras said, shaking his head.

"Let me sleep here."

"Go and sleep somewhere else."

Aurelie frowned in true pity as Grantaire continued to gaze at Enjolras, loving and distraught at once. Enjolras had yet to take up his anger with her, and she knew some was leaking out at Grantaire.

"Let me sleep here until I die," Grantaire pleaded, austere and grave.

Aurelie wanted to march over and hit Enjolras as he looked at Grantaire in disdain, responding with: "Grantaire, you are not capable of believing, thinking, wanting, living or dying."

Eying him levelly, Grantaire responded in a way that gave Aurelie chills.

"You'll see."

As he returned to the café, he muttered a few words Aurelie could not hear. She could not decide if she wished she could.

A few minutes later, Enjolras had reached an internal boiling point after talking to Grantaire, and he needed to speak with Aurelie and get her out of here. "Careful watch," he said to Marius while taking to his feet. It was a precarious climb down over the rubble, but once his shoes hit the street, he looked over at Aurelie, knew instinctively where she was even though he hadn't seen her since he'd climbed to the top.

Aurelie rose to her feet when she saw Enjolras spot her and prepared herself for the worst when he made his approach. His eyes held every emotion a man can feel, but he knew her; knew that she could speak of his ideals as an educated woman, possibly more than the men who surrounded him. He would know she could fight as fiercely in this war as she could argue his words.

Enjolras gripped her arm right in front of Eponine and pulled her into the privacy of dark shadows. "I wish you would leave," he hissed into her ear.

"I hope you won't ask me to," Aurelie stated. "And stop yanking me around by my arm."

Instantly, Enjolras let go. He was angry, but he wasn't realizing his anger seeping into his muscles. Looking her over, he altered his touch to gentle and stroked her cheek. "You are not safe here," he said. "You saw enough in Bastille today. You're in no condition to—"

"To what?" Aurelie challenged, looking him firmly in his eyes. "To witness the war you've spoke of? To see your victories and the blood of your foes?"

"To see the blood of our friends," Enjolras said, bewildered by her defiance.

"Don't you dare demand me away now," Aurelie continued strongly. They had a very clear dispute on the timing of her escape, and Aurelie would not let it be now. Aurelie would remain steadfast in this argument. She would not leave if he held his musket to her head. "When you met me, you knew what you were getting into, just as I with you. You knew I am dauntless, so do not treat me as though I've changed. I watched the life leave an innocent woman today. I must witness any deaths of my friends, if only to remember their lives and what they stood for."

She gestured to the windows, many shutters closed. "I will not hide in my room and act as though nothing is happening below like a coward. You loved me for my strength before, love me now for my insistence upon it."

Enjolras did not have the time for this, though that wasn't the reason he would leave her be. He knew she would not concede to his wishes, and there was a debt that had been incurred by his neglect. It would take something horrible for her to finally accept the danger, but he had one card in his hand that he hoped would spur her to safety.

"And how will it affect you if you see me die?" he asked.

While Aurelie knew of death, knew now with absolution that there would be many deaths in this rise of the people, the word aloud affected her deeply, especially when uttered from his lips and about himself. She would not allow this weakness to be seen.

"Heartbreak," she stated firmly, no hint of emotion behind it. "Devastation and ruin."

Enjolras slumped, an action that rarely occurred. "Which is why you must leave."

Aurelie vehemently shook her head. "I haven't finished," she said, looking deep into his eyes. "I will also watch with pride. I am proud of the man I stand by for exactly that; taking a stance. His willingness to die with honor for what he believes in. I will always speak of it with pride, as I will tell the story to our child of your bravery and determination, regardless of my position in life with where it leaves me."

"Let us return to heartbreak," Enjolras said under his breath as he glanced away.

"I will not," she said, solid in both posture and tone. "If you die, I will watch you take your last breath. I will not hear it be told to me, as I would not believe it is so. I will need to see it with my own eyes, and can only hope that if this tragedy occurs, you will take that last breath looking into mine."

Enjolras locked his jaw. "I am livid," he said to her, though anger was not what he felt fully. "You make it harder and harder for me to die."

He would not stop here. "You will watch only from the shadows," he insisted gravely. "Do not distract me by leaving them, for I will be forced to step away from my duty to drag you back into them. And if the barricade falls, you are to run."

Aurelie placed her hand on his arm tenderly, her touch absolute assurance. She would not kill the child she carried. Her copy of Enjolras.

"I promise you that."

Enjolras turned, but hesitated, just as Grantaire had earlier.

"Take your cap off."

"I will not," Aurelie said.

Enjolras chuckled. "You will, because I do not want to kiss a boy."

She was unable to believe he had asked in public for this, though they were behind a pillar in the dark. She also knew that that if they were seen, now that the plight was in play, Enjolras would not be viewed as weak. Strength was all around her, in every man and woman.

"Yes, Monsieur," she responded gently, pulling the pin that kept it locked on her head. She removed it and held it at her side.

Enjolras carefully laid a hand upon her cheek, took a second to savor this simple touch before moving into the next. However dark, he was able to see the whites of her eyes just before they closed while she leaned her head into his hand. His other hand delicately landed on her waist and he pressed his lips to hers. Again he paused without a motion before they became alive.

Though the kiss held the acumen and sadness of this scene, it was magic. He felt no weakness; his wife was the trigger of his gun. She had been the reason his aim was true this morning. He had not missed a shot. God had willed it so and steered the bullet into the hearts of those who would harm her.

And he could pray those bullets that could harm him would stray from his flesh so he could continue to protect her in years to come.

When he left her lips, he let his hand travel to her belly and come to a rest. He'd had her lips, and through her, could touch his child.

He did not speak then, there were no words. Enjolras simply swallowed and nodded at Aurelie, then left the shadows and entered the twilight. Light shed from houses that had not closed the shutters and many torches had been set up at the barricade and beyond.

He had a misstep that created a pause: the Les Amis de l'ABC in front of him around and atop the barricade, Aurelie at his back.

It was in this profundity that Enjolras felt heavy with what was right being wrong. There was no turning back, and had he known this would come, he would have made the very same steps to bring him here. It was enough to know he was wrong having his back toward her, but he faced what was correct as well.

Strange thing to feel wrong, and a foreign thought. And so it was willed away and he continued to the barricade.

Aurelie was resolute. She would be met with death, though knew not at this point and time who would die. But she would see it to make it a truth. She would not leave.

Be that as it may, she would not put herself in harm's way, and not just because Enjolras would never stand for it. She had a higher call now that was greater than the republic. She would have a child. But she could assist from behind the barricade, loading the weapons and taking the old for a reload. Behind the barricade she could hide from bullets while still doing all she could to keep Enjolras armed.

Pinning the cap on her head, she stepped from the shadows and sat down by Eponine. She knew Eponine had seen it all.

"I see the world best in the shadows," Eponine whispered. "Most don't, but they're clearer to me than daylight."

Aurelie eyed her sideways without a change in her features. "Then that is that."

"No," she said.

Eponine swiveled toward her, then placed her hand on her stomach. Aurelie's eyes widened in consternation, darting from the girl's face to her hand.

"_That_ is that," Eponine said pointedly.

"However do you mean?" Aurelie whispered, trying very hard to deny it without speaking the words. But Eponine noticed things others did not. She had seen into the shadows; seen Enjolras' hand rest on this very spot in a way that was undeniable to even the thickest skulls.

Eponine shrugged and removed her hand. Slouched back down beside her. Aurelie waited for her to speak, but she said nothing. Her silence stated that she knew even if Aurelie denied it outright, she would not argue a fact.

After a few minutes of realizing she would hear no words from the conversations around her until she had acknowledged this, without any sort of motion, Aurelie stated: "Yes."

Through the corner of her eye, she saw Eponine nod in the way one mocks another when they were right all along. "It's a boy," she sang.

For reasons unknown, Aurelie wanted to stand up and storm away in anger. There was no telling why she felt it, only that it was present. Perhaps it felt like an invasion of privacy, but there was more to it than that. Her child had been the only secret left that she and Enjolras shared alone, and this foolish girl had intruded on that sacrament. If they made it out alive, she'd be long gone with her child; did not want anyone here to ever know the truth of it all.

Succeeding to Eponine's accuracy of her pregnancy had been more than she'd wanted to allow, but now Eponine had guessed what Aurelie and Enjolras knew to be a fact without the proof. And to share an instinct was more private than sharing a secret truth.

Lifting her chin, Aurelie said: "If we are to die as you expect, we will never know."

And that was that.

* * *

The Sins of War

Gavroche returned in the next hour, told of what he had seen. Rioters were in the streets, which aggravated Enjolras for their lack of honor and fighting with pride. The National Guard was preparing for their attacks and Gavroche estimated they'd see battle before midnight, which gave them approximately five hours, if he was right.

"Perhaps you're well on your way to earning that musket," Enjolras told the boy.

"It's always the little ones who can be trusted," Courfeyrac said with a smile, tapping Gavroche's cap down so it covered his eyes.

Adjusting his hat, Gavroche said, "It's the big ones who can't be." He then nodded his head toward the café. "Citizens, there's a big one over there worth scoping out."

Enjolras glanced over in the direction gestured toward. "Which?"

"The big one doing nothing but scoping out you," Gavroche said.

Locating a man in browns, Enjolras asked: "What of him?"

"Stool pigeon," Gavroche responded calmly, causing Enjolras to whip his head back to the boy, chin prominently locked.

"You're sure of this?" Enjolras asked, studying the boy to be sure it was not child's play.

"Not even a fortnight ago he pulled me by my ear from the ledge of point Royal where I was getting some fresh air."

Aurelie had caught this, let her eyes travel behind her toward the tavern. This man had been helping her build the smaller barricade. Having paid little attention to who she recognized and who she did not while piling things up, she was now certain she'd seen him in this very neighborhood many times before.

Rising, Enjolras beckoned Courfeyrac and Fueilly with his head toward the man, then whispered something to Bossuet. A mutual nod was shared by all, and they positioned themselves around the man unobtrusively and discreetly until Enjolras finally stepped toward him.

"Who are you?" Enjolras demanded, managing to be imposing despite his thin frame, enough to cause the stolid, muscled man to flinch.

The man's eyes began on Enjolras, but darted around meeting the eyes of the others, and he understood he was cornered. With a sneer of arrogance, he straightened his frame.

"I am a government official."

"By what name?"

The man narrowed his eyes. "I am Javert."

Aurelie watched Enjolras signal at the others with a toss of his head to the side, then braced herself beside Eponine by grabbing the girls' arm as they lunged and attacked.

Javert eased. He knew he didn't have an escape here while the men held him, and was plotting his way out.

"Good evening dear inspector!" Gavroche cried, running over with a toothy grin.

Chin low, Enjolras glared at Javert with malice, cursing himself for not realizing this sooner. He did not believe himself to be easily fooled and noted with anger that he should have been paying closer attention to these men in the barricade, as many of them had joined late in the game.

There were at least twenty comrades aiming their carbines and muskets at Javert, and both Aurelie and Eponine helped each other, a scramble of hands, until they were on their feet.

"You know him?" Aurelie asked the girl sideways.

"'Course I do," she responded. "I'm on lookout for him nightly."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Aurelie hissed.

"Because tonight I am not looking for him."

Inhaling deeply, Aurelie gripped the girls forearm and the two stepped ever closer to the many men surrounding Enjolras and Javert, nearly all of them with their guns aimed at the inspector's head.

With a firm grip on Javert's shoulder, Courfeyrac looked over at Gavroche. "Well done, my brother," he said, giving the boy a firm nod.

"What do we do with this snake?" Fueilly asked, the final word hissed into Javert's ear with enough force that droplets of saliva were spat at the man's cheek.

Composed, Enjolras' eyes travelled the bunch with their guns aimed. He was looking upon a firing squad; all it would take was his order.

When he met Aurelie's eyes, he held them. The question was ever present. He hoped that this would serve as an example of how unsafe they truly were here, but he recognized that this was not enough to push her over the edge.

With the intake of air, he brought his eyes back to the four holding Javert.

"Into the tavern," he said, gesturing with his head.

Courfeyrac and Fueilly escorted the inspector into the café with Enjolras, Prouvaire and Bossuet close behind. The rest of the street rushed to the barricade, ready for an attack.

Aurelie snuck behind with Eponine until they hovered in the doorframe, Widow Huchloup and her daughters just inside cowering behind the bar. That was when Javert made his move and threw Fueilly against the wall. Prouvaire followed as he leapt at Javert.

Enjolras grabbed hold of his shoulders from behind, but Javert deftly spun his way and punched him in the jaw. Aurelie grew cold, but it surprised her; she hadn't been all that surprised at all. Somehow she'd expected pain inflicted upon him, and if the most he took was a punch, she was blessed.

Watching Enjolras only, she saw him stumble back toward the door. It was she and Eponine who stopped him from meeting the ground, and he took no notice as to who had helped him, still needing to restrain the inspector. Enjolras calmly wiped his jaw with his thumb, looked down at the blood on his hand, then rushed toward Javert with force.

A cane was ripped away from the table near an elderly gentleman by Javert, and he swung it with all his might. It cracked Enjolras on the back before Courfeyrac took a blow on the shoulder. Prouvaire, finally having climbed to his feet, caught the end, but it was ripped away and aimed at Fueilly, who fell to his knees.

It was a scene to behold. Javert's plight was useless, Aurelie knew. He was cornered and outnumbered. But he was attempting to take out all he could, and it was difficult to restrain herself from making a go at the man herself.

Javert fell to the ground after those who had been hit synchronized their movements and attacked together, it having taken five men to put him there. Aurelie lit with a fire as Enjolras snatched the cane from Javert's cruel hands. The inspector had endangered them greatly, and they were now a far bigger target than thought before.

Tossing his grip on the cane to the middle, Enjolras swung with all his strength, striking the metal ball on Javert's head. He was out cold, the muscles in his body suddenly lax.

And all went silent.

They worked to hog tie him up with a noose around his neck so if he struggled, he would hang himself. A few minutes later and he woke, blood trickling into his eyes. His sneer returned.

"You're a spy," Enjolras said. "Two minutes before the barricade is taken, you'll be shot."

"And why not now, schoolboy?" Javert dared, hate in his eyes.

"We're saving our powder."

"Just get it over with you coward," Javert said, malice in his tone. "Take up a knife, boy."

He was goading Enjolras, and the others were falling prey, Bossuet actually retrieving a knife from the bar. Horrified as she felt, Aurelie wanted him to die. He'd already endangered them all.

But Enjolras had far too much honor for that. He tucked his knees to achieve eye level.

"Spy," he said, addressing Javert as though this was his name. "We are judges, not assassins."

Without waiting for a response, Enjolras rose and turned away. He did not beckon his lieutenants, for they would not disappoint him after this feat of strength and honor. And Aurelie caught them out of the corner of her eye beginning to back away, leaving Javert hogtied and in his noose.

What were her eyes actually upon? Enjolras of course, and his in hers until he passed by and walked out the door.

Things go horribly wrong in war, and the next was far worse than the spy.

It was only forty minutes later when a commotion was heard near the barricade in the rear, and Aurelie saw some men pounding on a door with their pistol. This did not seem to rouse the crew around her, and only two men were keeping watch at the back barricade, remaining unaffected.

She watched this transpire for a very long time, enough for them to create splinters in the door, demanding to be let in.

By now, citizens had long since locked their doors. This place was not a prison, though for the residents, their home became as much. But anyone could leave when they wished. Those who had helped the preparation did not need to fight; most could not.

She did not understand these men at the door: they were not begging to hide, they were commanding it to open. It seemed they were drunk, and she felt as though she needed to bring it to Enjolras' attention, however much of a distraction he'd believe she was. Something important was happening.

But he sat on as though nothing was happening, and it was out of his eyesight. It was interesting to see how unaffected they all were, still making jokes, passing around bread, cleaning their weapons. She'd even heard Bossuet mention her name, caught Enjolras' dagger-like eyes in his direction upon the suggestive remark.

Still, she waited. Watching.

The wood was splintering, and finally a porter opened the slot in the door at eye level.

"Messieurs, may I help you?" she heard the muffled voice ask, too far away to know if that was exactly what he had said.

"Open your door!" the man who seemed to be in charge of the three said.

There were some unintelligible words as a response, then the man once again demanded more vehemently that the door be opened.

It was when the man took his pistol from his sash and aimed it at the door that Aurelie bolted up off the pavement.

She heard the strong "No" from the porter, and eyed Enjolras, willing him silently to turn around and stop whatever was happening.

This was how commonplace the talk around here was. Even though the voices were level, the streets were so full of hollering and banging that this conversation seemed to be from outside rather than in.

"Will you or won't you let us in?"

Aurelie was in motion toward Enjolras and began scaling the barricade while her eyes darted between him and these men.

"Enjolras!"

He met her eyes, registered her urgency. Saw her gaze flick down the street.

The gun was aimed at the door and the shot was fired, piercing her eardrums in the night. The man smiled at his friends, said, "That's that," while opening the door, then dropped his spent pistol on the ground.

Enjolras and those around him instantly leapt up, the sound having caught everyone's attention. Aurelie fell against the barricade in a slump as she saw the old man collapse over the threshold, his head landing on the pavement. She was shaken, unable to believe her own eyes, the scene no more real than a travelling theatre troupe.

It seemed no more than a blink of an eye—yet she did not blink, not once—that Enjolras had arrived at the scene, Courfeyrac and Fueilly behind him. The shot had caught Combeferre's attention in a different way, and he had run into the café to collect his kit to doctor the wounded.

The lion that was Enjolras managed to catch the man at his neck and was pushing him to the ground while ordering him, "On your knees."

The man he held was far larger than Enjolras, and Aurelie finally caught her bearings and ran toward the crowd, stopping at a pole that she gripped, ready for the man to lash out.

He tried, but Enjolras had the strength of Apollo and managed to hold him down on his knees with seemingly little effort. Still the man struggled against his hold while Enjolras' locked his chin, remaining calm and wild at once. Maintaining his superhuman hold and composure.

Everyone had created a circle around the two now, and Aurelie had to dash down a few more posts until she could get a clearer picture of what was happening. Enjolras and the man had a good five meters around them in each direction, Aurelie another five meters behind.

The man began to give up his fight and looked up at Enjolras to plead.

"He wouldn't let us up," he said, now entering a fight or flight mode than Aurelie had never seen before. This man was frightened for his life, as he deserved, but at the hands of Enjolras, he certainly could have overpowered him.

But that was the magic of Enjolras; he was a god when his determination became front and center, and he could command anything.

"We came to help you! We were going to be in the windows and fire from—"

"Pull yourself together," Enjolras said, then calmly—easily—pulled the pocket watch Aurelie had given him from his vest. Maintaining his grip with one hand, the other nonchalantly holding the watch, he said, "Pray or reflect. You have one minute."

Enjolras held no gun, but the man was terrified, judged by the god holding him down.

"Mercy," muttered the man; this murderer. He then hung his head low and began to pray.

Eyes never leaving the clock face, Enjolras could hear every tick the second-hand made until it had completed a circle. He then put the watch back into his pocket as though this were any other day. Aurelie could see his anger: beneath the exterior, Enjolras was outraged.

But he maintained cool composure.

Clutching the man's hair in his fist, Enjolras yanked him upward and drew out his pistol, held it to the man's temple.

_And all these intrepid men who surrounded him, those who were ready to fight to their deaths for their beliefs—_for Enjolras_—even they turned away._

Aurelie did not.

The explosion of the gun and the man crumpling to the pavement happened at the same time, but did not feel linked. The man fell as though the he hadn't been shot, the gun fired as though aimed at nothing, the two actions separate effects.

Straightening his back, Enjolras scanned the men around him. He could feel Aurelie, always, and she was behind his men against a pillar. He knew this without making eye contact; knew she had seen it all.

His foot pushed the body a little, still shuddering the muscle palpitations of death.

"Throw that outside."

Combeferre had dropped his case of supplies when the shot had fired, and somberly joined Courfeyrac and Bossuet in lifting the body. They shook as fiercely as the dead man they held as they tossed it over the smallest of their barricades and into Mondetour Alley.

There was no looking away, and Aurelie couldn't fathom what had just happened. There are moments you are in, and moments you are out, and this hovered in the purgatory between. Even those rioting must have felt what was happening, because the streets were silent.

She could not read Enjolras, which was unusual. She'd always been able to pinpoint his thoughts at the very moment they struck him. But now, he was ineffable.

"Citizens," he said finally, his voice loud enough to reach even those who had stayed back. "What that man did is horrifying, and what I did is horrible. It is one thing to fight fire with fire, another to murder an innocent. He shot someone, and that is why I killed him. An insurrection must be disciplined. Murder is even more of a crime here, in our redoubt, than anywhere else: we are under the eye of the revolution, we are the priests of the republic, we are the sacramental hosts of duty and no one must be able to vilify our struggle. So I judged that man and sentenced him to death. As for myself, forced to do what I did, but abhorring it, I have judged myself as well and you will soon see what I have sentenced myself to."

It was then that Aurelie realized that Enjolras had already surrendered to death. He would surrender nothing else, but death was his sentence.

She was not the only person to shudder.

"We will share your fate," Combeferre cried, the first of them to rally behind him after this horror.

"So be it," Enjolras said, nodding at his comrade. He began to move, but paused and held up his finger. "One other thing."

Her eyes begging him to stop, she did not get her way.

"In executing that man, I obeyed a necessity. But necessity is a monster of the old world, necessity is called Fatality. Now the law of progress has it that monsters disappear in the face of angels, and that Fatality evaporates in the face of Fraternity.

"This is a bad moment to utter the word _love,"_ he said, this aimed into Aurelie's eyes, and they were held firmly, as if she could tear her eyes away. "Never mind, I utter it, and I glorify it. Love, you hold the future in your hands. Death, I use you, but I hate you. Citizens, in this future there will be no darkness, no thunderbolts, no vicious ignorance, no bloody eye for an eye, blood for blood. Since there will be no more Satan, there will be no more Michael. In the future no one will kill, the earth will shine, the human race will love."

He finally turned his gaze from Aurelie to address the masses.

"It will come, citizens, the day when all will be peace, harmony, light, joy, and life, it will come. And it is so that it comes that we are going to die."

While his speech was meant to unite and encourage—it having had its desired effect on his men as they shook hands and bravo'd their efforts—it had the direct opposite effect on Aurelie. She could not even be angry. In the first time of her life, she felt the fight leaving her. All her strength evaporated and evolved into unadulterated terror.

It was then that she realized that she'd been too hopeful. For years she'd seen this as a change, and perhaps a change would come from it. But it would be at the cost of his life, her love. War can be romanticized before it's begun, but there is no enchantment once it's arrived. Everyone who surrounded her had accepted their fates while she'd been denying it from the start. It was only now that she realized the outcome, and it was devastating.

Looking around, everyone was examining Enjolras as he walked with poise and resolve back to the main barricade. They studied him in awe, the way one looks at a god. She'd seen this phenomenon before, but here it was magnified tenfold. They admired him, this executioner and priest—her love—made of light like crystal, and of rock, too.

Without turning his head, he met Aurelie's eyes as she backed into her shadows. In his heart, from here on, he would be begging for her forgiveness.

* * *

The Hopes and Dreams of a Drunk

It's easy to forget necessities while faced with war, and it was when Fueilly lit a pipe nearby that Aurelie began to cough from the smoke. This was when she realized her bodily needs and sat upright from her lean against the pillar of the stairs.

"I'll bring us some water," she said to Eponine.

"You'll bring us some wine, you mean," Eponine responded. As broken as Aurelie was feeling, Eponine looked worse. And she was quite right; they needed a drink after what they had witnessed.

Heading to the tavern, Aurelie located a bottle at the bar. She did not shirk away from the inspector when he spat on the floorboards, the saliva mixed with his blood. No matter how she felt, no matter how broken she was, she maintained her resolve. It's all you can have when you feel very little strength left. Something to keep pushing with as to not fall to your knees and sob.

She made her way up the stairs to see what had become of their playroom, their command post, their fortress. The floor was nearly empty; all but a few worn down chairs and tables that were already well splintered, and a billiards table for which she had no idea why it had been left behind. Perhaps they wished to play during the lulls, she thought while shaking her head in frustration and exhaustion.

Grantaire was draped over a table where he sat in the back, passed out cold.

Again she rolled her eyes and marched his way to be sure he was still breathing, as had been done often enough by her and others. He was perfectly well and, at the same time, pristinely broken, as was she. She despised and envied his sleep.

Just as she palmed the top of the banister, Grantaire shifted his arms beneath his head to create more of a cushion than his cheek pressed against the hardwood. Smacking his lips, his eyes began to flutter.

"Aurelie," he said with the voice of a man life had used up.

She hovered as her head tilted in pity. They held eye contact. He blinked.

She did not.

The breath she took heaved her chest upward, then a long sigh was exhaled before she crossed the room to him. Grantaire managed to raise his head and prop it up in a palm against his cheek that sent the left side of his lips upward in a sneer that was no sneer. This here was a man who had given up all hope.

Beside him now, he took his time before he spoke. Aurelie believed he had called her name because he did not want to be alone in this silence, and she did not blame him. It would not be long before he was asleep again, so she gave him her silent comfort for a few moments.

"Is he dead yet?" he finally asked.

"He is not."

"He will be."

"Perhaps," Aurelie responded, and this was said with an invisible shrug. This is not to say the thought of his death didn't sicken her, as it made her luminous soul flicker at the very idea.

But as everyone viewed her as dulcet and compassionate—viewed her as decisive and opinionated—she was also looked upon as an emotional enigma. No one could ever pinpoint how she felt behind her words, which is rare with the fragility of human hearts; emotions are worn openly and adorned across a personage. One of Aurelie's great strengths was denying any man the right to misplaced sympathy or empathy aimed in her direction. It was only Enjolras who would hear of her emotions, and when they did not come from her lips, he could feel them through their profound connection.

"He is very much in love with you."

Aurelie nodded, her secret long since given up in this late hour.

"And I with him," she responded.

Grantaire closed his eyes, soaking in her affirmation of his years of suspicion. It wounded him, but hard as he tried, he could not hate her for a victory in a race he was never a competitor in. The race had one single runner, and it was always Aurelie, and only her ever.

"He will not let me die with him," Grantaire said after a long moment, his eyes falling to the table.

"He will not let me die with him either."

Of course with a child on the way, neither she nor Enjolras would allow her to die. But in another time—under different circumstances—she was aware he would not allow her to die with him regardless. You cannot 'what if' in life, as there is no other way than the present. But let us indulge the question and ask: what if she was not carrying a child?

In their own opposite ways, they were a completion of Enjolras: Aurelie a magnifying glass, Grantaire an alternate universe. Taking a child out of the equation, they would both insist and both be denied their wish. The effect of the cause was opposite for both: Grantaire asleep with drink so he'd no longer suffer, Aurelie dynamic with determination to fight. And if given the opportunity to die beside him, Grantaire would die in a darkness of disillusion, Aurelie would die in the light of unification.

Both would do so to prove their love.

"There is a stark difference as to why," Grantaire said, and impossibly managed to slump further.

"I don't believe that's true," Aurelie said plainly.

Grantaire's pupils hit the ceiling while his lids fluttered. "He will not let you die upon the pedestal of love. He will not allow me to die under twenty leagues of disdain."

After a glance around the room, Aurelie pulled a chair from a neighboring table and placed herself directly in front of him.

"Twenty leagues of disdain," Aurelie repeated softly, these words to herself with a shake of her head, devastated Grantaire could even begin to think that way. "Allow me to explain to you the pedestal you've been placed upon, Grantaire, for I believe you may find it higher than any other man who is beside him tonight."

Though Grantaire scoffed, his eyes conveyed hope and despair. Briefly, his chin quivered as Aurelie took his free hand in both of hers.

"If he is to die, the men he stands beside had to earn his love; no easy feat, as I'm sure you're aware. He did not love any of them before a war of words. He fights for his love of the country, his demands for democracy. For a republic. He loves the masses, but individuals have to demonstrate their worth for his love. This is what makes Enjolras terrible; people crave his attention and love, yet he will not bestow it on anyone who hasn't proven themselves worthy of it."

"I have learned this already, Aurelie. I am inadequate."

Aurelie shook her head with a pensive smile. "Quite the opposite, my darling," she said. "You believe in nothing. Nothing but him, I should say. Any political statement you are presented with receives a maddening response of mockery from you, and who do you believe this inflames the most? Perhaps the man who will not tolerate any form of what he views as weakness, and let us be clear with a smile that you have them all."

This was said with an ever growing grin, and Grantaire returned it understanding that it was said out of endearment and not contempt.

Grasping his hand tighter, Aurelie continued:

"So let me return you to those men below, who are righteous and staunch, and here you and I will give them the acclaim they deserve for earning a scrap of land at the barricade in hopes of a glorious death for what they believe in. Why should we give them these accolades when you and I are denied the same?"

Grantaire shook his head at the question and shrugged.

"Because we did not have to earn his love," Aurelie stated majestically, each word receiving the punctuation of over enunciation. "He gave us his love against his will, for we had done nothing to earn it."

An idea struck her and she released his hand and rushed over to the bar.

She returned to the table with two glasses; one a hefty mug for ale, the other a small goblet for wine. She had filled each with alcohol.

"Let us put our glasses side by side, you and I," she said, situating the drinks between them so her demonstration would be clear. "What am I?"

With this, she gestured to the goblet.

"I am a woman who walked into this room. A swan, I've been called. That was all that was seen upon falling in love. Love was offered before I spoke a word, and what had I done to earn it? Nothing. Our souls connected, a divine plan perhaps. But it could be simpler. It could be that I had just looked pretty."

She fingered the top of the mug and spun it in a circle. Grinning, a clever laugh of adoration escaped her lips.

"And here I present you with Grantaire," she said as a ringmaster introduces a lion. "A mug for the man affectionately called a wine cask. You . . . you should have been tossed from here as others have for serving as a distraction and having no ideals. I give you the larger of the two glasses because of what had to be compensated by you. Dig me two holes and I'll show that the deeper one is yours, yet we both climb to the top.

"Take a look at these two glasses side by side, Grantaire," she said firmly. "Both are full. Which of these holds more drink, and I will parlay that into asking you which of these holds more love?"

Grantaire bit his lips, overcome to the point of moisture filling his eyes. He had to look away.

Aurelie, having noticed this, pushed the glasses to the side and placed a hand atop his. "You see?" she whispered. "He loves you. Love for a brother, a father, a son; these are all love's tendrils snaking in different directions. And who are we to compare an apple to an orange?"

"A fancy goblet to a mug," Grantaire said softly.

"Yes," Aurelie said, knowing he understood the analogy as well as the representation in a more literal sense. She picked up the goblet and pushed the mug his way. Raising her glass to him, she said, "And both are brimming with love, so let us drink it down at this barricade, for we know not how much longer we will have a chance to."

Grantaire picked up the mug and tapped it against her goblet, and they both took a healthy drink.

"I've always envied you, Aurelie," Grantaire said sleepily, but was determined to finish the wine that had been presented to him, never one to let a drop be wasted. "And I've always loved you through it when I should have hated you for your victory."

"And I've always appreciated the one other person who could even begin to rival the love I have for him," Aurelie said with a smile. "Love through worship is not enough. It's the struggle to earn a love that proves its depth, and I can promise you that he differentiates the two, even if he is oblivious to yours. Because it cannot be me, if he is to die and you wish to, you will have the honor of standing beside him, and you will be giving him what I cannot. I pray for his life and yours, but should the occasion arise, know that it is I who envies you."

Grantaire felt the last of his sobering moments in her words here as he widened his eyes at her austerely. Swallowed. Decided the gulp of his own saliva was not enough and chugged the rest of the wine down as he thought through everything she had said.

He noted that she was a guardian angel sent to him by God at the place God himself had forsaken. God had forsaken him long ago, he'd thought. Until now.

In silence, Aurelie sipped the last of her wine while watching Grantaire begin to fade from consciousness as his heavy head hit the table. He would raise it for a brief second, then it would fall once more upon his arm.

"Let me sing you a lullaby," Aurelie said, running her fingers through his matted brown locks. "A lullaby without a tune, a legend to send you to your dreams."

"There was a night once," she continued as she looked up and to the right, trying to recall the details and offer them to Grantaire in a way that would soothe the poor man's desperation without any exaggeration. "It was very cold with a light dusting of snow. Even the fires couldn't bring this place the warmth needed, but the drinks could. I remember how the warmth of camaraderie in this very room offered a heat none of us could find alone at home."

"Though with you he had warmth," Grantaire muttered, smacking his lips. He did not move another muscle.

"Shh, my darling," Aurelie said, continuing to run her fingers through his unruly dark hair. "It was a late night and the windows were so cold they had a ring of frost in the edges. You of course baited him incessantly and received the desired effect, and let me explain to you that with Enjolras, if he hated you, you would have received no answer ever if he did not care. Evoking a roll of his eyes is more than he gives anyone, even me."

"I'd hoped for more from those eyes."

"Grantaire," Aurelie said with a sigh. "Rest your thoughts and listen to me. You were asleep by the time the room cleared, just as you've been tonight. Only four of us were left by then and about to turn in to our cold beds to ride out the night. We began to leave, but he paused at the top of the stairs and looked at you. I'm not sure I'd ever seen that look before, and I'm not sure I've seen it since. It was a look of sadness and a look of love. He has always been endeared to you in a way I've understood clearly, and a way I've seen with no one else.

"He lingered in this, deep in thought, and for the first time in my life I did not know what he was thinking," she said. "But he turned to me then and asked: _Do you have a blanket to spare?_ I nodded and he followed me to my apartment where I was able to locate a warm blanket. I've always had a large heart for you, so I returned with him. I stood at the stairs as he approached you and he carefully draped you in a blanket on your table, tucking in the corners the way a father tucks in a child. He watched you closely, then swept his hand through your hair, just as I am doing now. And as we left, his eyes were on you until the spiral of the stairs would no longer allow a view."

Aurelie did not know if Grantaire was asleep just yet, but his breath had evened and he was now well on his way.

"I tell you this because you should know that you have completed him in a way no one else ever could," Aurelie said, and it was one hundred percent the truth. She finally brought her hand to a rest on his crown. If he was asleep now, what she was telling him needed to be said just as much for her. "You brightened his days, and when he was not telling you off, he hid his grins. No man is impenetrable, not even one who demands the appearance that he is stone. It is love that sneaks through those walls, and you managed to not only receive his attention, you received his care that night."

Gently, she withdrew her hand and noticed that he did not stir. She sat in silence for a minute, watching the poor man as he slumbered.

"Good night, Grantaire," she whispered, then kissed the top of his head. "May your dreams bring you all that you wish and more."

* * *

The Wrong Place and the Right Time

Once she'd worked her way down the spiral staircase, Aurelie halted abruptly upon seeing Enjolras at the entrance, the door behind him closed. His arms were crossed, which made him look more imposing than he was. In all reality, he was rather thin behind lean muscles.

They were strangers in their appearance: Enjolras with dirtied hair and powder on his skin; Aurelie in the clothing of a schoolboy. Perhaps if they didn't feel each other, always, they would have passed the other by without hesitation.

But he was here because she was here, and no other reason.

"Come to kill me now, boy?" Javert asked, his exhaustion the better of him whilst still giving a good fight to the end.

"I'm not here for you, spy," Enjolras said to him, though his eyes were locked on Aurelie.

Garnering her courage, remembering how she could equal him, she pressed onward with her bottle of wine in hand. Of course she knew she could not pass by him, but she could at least appear as though she intended to.

This was the fifth time Enjolras subconsciously grabbed her arm, and she'd had it.

"You grab me again like that and I will break this bottle over your head."

As with the previous times, Enjolras realized his harsh action and instantly mitigated it. At this, Aurelie made her futile attempt to push by and open the door, bring this bottle to Eponine. Though there was really no attempt made. It was a show for him so he wouldn't see what lay beneath the surface.

"You have seen a woman die," said Enjolras.

"I did."

"You have seen me face a spy," Enjolras said levelly.

"I have."

He raised a brow over his hooded eyes. "You saw me kill a man."

"I saw you kill earlier in Bastille."

"You saw me execute an unarmed man," Enjolras rectified.

"I saw you give justice to a murderer," Aurelie calmly responded.

"Have you seen enough?"

Straightening her shoulders, making herself look just as imposing while tucking her chin, Aurelie replied:

"No."

He'd expected as much, and did not blink.

"Be prepared, Aurelie," he warned.

"I am indomitable," she stated through her teeth.

This was another moment for Enjolras. Another question if he should knock her out and drag her away out of frustration or embrace her and cradle her while speaking his words of adoration. He did not like his two choices, and was struggling with hovering between.

This went noticed by Aurelie. She could read him, hear his thoughts in real time, always.

"Have you really—" she began, matching his anger as she pointed firmly at the ground. It was her time to rally her general, and if that took a slap to his face, she was not above it. "—sentenced yourself to a death?"

Enjolras turned his eyes from her toward the wall.

This was his answer, and Aurelie stomped her foot on the ground, dropped the bottle to the floor, then gave him a shove that sent him against the door.

"How dare you!" she cried. She knew she could probably be heard by those outside and couldn't have cared any less. He would not look at her. "There are too many people who love you!"

"What I did—"

He got no further before Aurelie interrupted him.

"Pay attention! Or God help me, I will march to the top of the barricade and call for a bullet to my breast!"

Enjolras' eyes snapped to hers and he held them, wide and terrified.

"You were right," Aurelie began, her tone laced with anger though with less volume. "What you did was horrible, and what that man did was horrible, and everything that is about to happen is horrible, but you pick yourself up, and I am not saying for yourself, I am saying for us!"

There was another shove with this one, and Aurelie had become a ball that was steadily picking up its pace on a downhill slope.

"You are to pick yourself up for those who love you!"

The ball that was Enjolras was winning the race to the bottom; his teeth locked with a quivering chin. He weakly tried to catch her wrist on another shove, but missed, as he had little fight in him against the woman he loved and had destroyed.

"Now tell me you love me—"

Another shove to his right shoulder.

"—and tell me you will live for me—"

To his left.

"—and tell me you will die for me!"

He accepted his beating. He had earned it.

"For me, Enjolras, not for this country or for your selfish damnation!"

Enjolras had made a few futile attempts to catch her wrists, but it was only now that he caught them, ending up with both and gripping them tightly, pressing her fists against his chest.

"Shh," he hushed, over and over again until the fight left her. Closing his eyes, he heard a short burst of a sob from her throat the second her muscles grew lax, and he caught her in his arms just as her knees gave way.

Her hands now freed from his grip, she threw her arms around him and held him as tightly as she could. No more than a single tear had left her eyes, but her lips would not close, her mouth the distinct shape of pure anguish.

She had not expected herself to crumble; she was stone, not clay. But even marble can crack. Even marble can topple over a cliff if precariously placed, and both Aurelie and Enjolras had reached the edge now behind the barricade.

He was unable to hold her close enough, and judging by the way she clutched him, she felt the same. From one foot to the other, he shifted his weight, rocking her until her breathing steadied.

"I know," Aurelie finally whispered. She loosened her grip, though did not let go. "This is not the time or place or—"

Enjolras grasped her shoulders and held her out.

"This is exactly the place and time," he said levelly.

_Yes_, he thought as he studied her eyes. _There is no other time._

"You told me at the church that I believe wrongly, and I am before you now to concede it," he said. "I lived a lie and forced you to suffer through it, only to make you suffer further. If I could turn back the hands of time and have a chance to right this wrong, I would hold you forever. Now I see clearly. It is too little, and too late, but it is now that I confess this and there is no other place or time more apt for me to make amends and repent. And so it is, Aurelie. I love you, I live for you, and I die for you."

Even in her cap she was beautiful, if not more so due to the significance behind it. He wanted her to run, would not stop trying. But it was her love that would not allow him his wish. He knew very well that when their timing was in sync she would leave. He understood that now was not her time.

"Say something," Enjolras prompted, searching her.

Aurelie swallowed heavily, said nothing. She held his eyes, garnered her strength and steadied her weary muscles.

She then stepped forward and brought her lips to his mouth. Nothing more needed to be said. All they needed was this kiss, in the wrong place but at the right time.

Weaving his fingers into the hair at the nape of her neck, he pulled her closer, pressing his lips against hers. Their timing may be off, but their rhythm was exact. They may have kept a secret, but there was no hiding how they felt, and Enjolras was done hiding. The idea struck him that someone may try to enter the café and it only gave his kiss more depth. When the notion struck him that this could be his last, he held her closer and it deepened still.

When he was reminded that she should not be here, he shut his eyes tight as could be to fight the pain of it. And he finally drew back with a nearly silent sob.

"Please leave, Aurelie," he begged, his lips no longer against hers but his grip on her neck just as firm. "I cannot bear to lose you."

"I am here for that very reason," Aurelie said, then pressed her lips to his once more.

There was heat and passion in this kiss, however no desire to take it further as there might have been in another time. Desperation for the other is more appropriate of an explanation for their fervor.

But we do no other than to tell it like it is. They were both fully aware that any second they would have to part and neither knew if there would be another time to have this sort of passion, which created a maniacal need to maintain the intensity of their unparalleled love, each believing it impossible that the other could love them more. Disaster was not a threat, it was a promise; it was only a matter of time before they were met by another horrifying aspect of war. Yes, they knew the kiss would have to end and they would have to face the barricade once more, but they refused to allow their presence anywhere else but in the moment just now. In this kiss.

And in another time and another place, they would never have stopped.


	10. Book Ten: Tears Between Worlds

**BOOK TEN:**

**TEARS BETWEEN WORLDS**

* * *

Marius and the Powder Keg

It was not another time, nor place. Aurelie and Enjolras were very much at the barricade in person, despite their souls having reached a higher plane. They were placed at the tavern door, closed, with the insurgents keeping watch. Beyond the barricade: throngs of National Guardsmen approaching Saint-Michel.

Their harsh interruption was the steady beat of drums in the distance along with a cruel chuckle from Javert, whom had remained uncharacteristically silent, having been somewhat taken by the display of love in what he felt was paramount to a show on a stage. It had taken the drums in the distance to return all three to their surroundings; Javert tossed out of the theatre, Aurelie and Enjolras ripped from heaven.

Enjolras slowly released his hold on Aurelie, never once leaving her eyes as the severity of this new situation presented itself. Horrible things had happened, and they'd yet to see battle. He felt Aurelie's hands brush down his arms, then she left his eyes.

_Enough_.

This was thought by Aurelie, and only this, as she straightened his jacket, her eyes in the unfocused nether between the two.

When Aurelie was eleven, her mother was taken by scarlet fever. After her death, Aurelie would go through this very process. In the morning, she would sit herself in front of a mirror, a clock placed on the vanity. Looking herself in the eyes, she would cry. She would allow herself to feel the great pain of a forever changed world: a world without her mother, the woman she hoped to become. She would not sob, she would not sniffle. She was intrepid even in a state of devastation.

When three minutes had passed, she would pick up her handkerchief, clear the moisture, throw her shoulders back and eye herself once more.

She would say to herself: _Enough_.

His name had been called by Combeferre and Enjolras was already turning around as Aurelie straightened her frame. With a deep inhale, she was fully composed after so many years of this training. She had not cried here, but she had allowed her emotions to get the better of her, and she felt the better for it. She knew not how she would react if the incoming horrors took Enjolras from her, but with the beat of these drums, he was already gone.

_Enough for now_.

"It was only a matter of time," Javert sneered, echoing what they both felt but did not hear just now. Their world had expanded but refused to include him. Those drums were what mattered now, and it was time to meet them head on.

Everything had felt slow for a few seconds; Aurelie collecting herself while making Enjolras presentable, Enjolras garnering his vehemence once more and visualizing every move that would have to be made in this confrontation.

Neither pair of eyes were in focus.

The door launched open in full force, Combeferre's wide eyes meeting Enjolras' with urgency. He did not notice Aurelie; only noted that there was a boy standing beside the man he'd been seeking in his periphery.

"Enjolras," Combeferre cried. "Hurry, they're bearing down."

Instinctively, Aurelie picked up a musket leaning against the wall and mindlessly handed it over to him. Both their eyes were off in the distance, aimed at the drums now, as though they could see through the barricade and buildings ahead. They paid no notice to each other, but were ever present in thought. And in taking the gun, it was times like these that they were fully connected: Aurelie had known he needed one, had slowly lifted one from the wall that she hadn't seen as though it had materialized in her hand. Enjolras had taken it from her, somewhere noting in his head that she'd read his mind, but he had a position to take and in the next second, he was slowly, very slowly, walking with purpose toward the barricade before them.

He was grabbed by Courfeyrac the second he had stepped through the threshold behind Combeferre and rushed up the barricade. Now in the present, he was in full action, and ducked just below the crest while eying his compatriots, each in their proper place, guns ready.

"Everyone in position," Enjolras ordered, pointing at vacant areas for his men to kneel. Aurelie began to hear the Sargent ordering his troop.

"Right! Right! Right! Right!"

She hadn't realized she was in motion at all until half way between the café and Eponine, and upon noticing this, she scrambled over and sat beside the girl at the base of the barricade. There, Eponine was already holding a carbine, locked and loaded, ready to hand up to Marius just above her head.

The flag rippled in a bit of wind, stirring to life and ready for the attack as the rest were.

Still it was astonishing to Aurelie how calm they were! And while internally admonishing them for the repose, she noted that she also echoed the tone. She no longer felt the damage that had been emotionally inflicted. Her strength and resolve was returning in a strange way. A serene way.

This was a double standard. While she felt peaceful, if not slightly dazed, she wanted to see some urgency in them. Some strength or fear, or both in equal measure. But they were natural. They were ready, and when one has already accepted death, there is a calm, however fiercely they fight the reaper away.

Aurelie saw the rest of the shutters close above, was inflamed that people could close them at all. Shut out the street as though it were any night and there was no war below. She understood them hiding for any reason they chose to give, but this was a sight to be seen if not participating. It was important to be a part of history, even if only as a bird, and to remember what had transpired to tell of the story later.

It was this reason she was here. If their fight was destined to lose, she would see each death with her own eyes to speak of them later, let them be remembered for what they'd sacrificed. If Enjolras was to die, she would watch, however defiantly. She dare not predict her reaction, but it would be done because of necessity. She would not allow him to die behind her back.

Enjolras and Marius were side by side at the highest point in the direct center, placing themselves behind a wooden wheel of a carriage.

"Now hold your fire," Marius insisted, eyes darting to each man.

"Save your gunpowder," Courfeyrac agreed.

Aurelie could not take her eyes off of Enjolras. It was strange how every time she looked at him, she saw him born to be exactly as that. He was born to be a leader, born to preach, born to debate, born to learn, born to love her.

"Above all," Enjolras said strongly, "Let us raise our flag."

Right now, he was born to hold a gun, taking aim through the spokes of the wheel, the flag of the republic beside him.

She did not see the army, but knew by the sound when they had breached the corner. Heard the general call, "Front rank, kneel!"

Heard the rustle of cloth hit the pavement in sync with the rhythm only armies can beat.

"Take aim!" the general called, and it was done so calmly that one would have thought he was saying good morning to a new day.

"Get down," Enjolras said quickly, lowering himself below the rise of the barricade. In this he was still the pillar of strength to those around him, sounding calm yet conveying alarm. Everyone ducked down low so if any shot was taken they would be protected.

Holding his musket close to his head, his finger on the trigger, Aurelie swallowed heavily. His moment had arrived and she would do all she could.

"Who's there?" the general called from the void beyond.

Enjolras looked at Marius, to Courfeyrac. Then his eyes gazed into the nether, all sights going unseen.

He wet his lips.

"French Revolution!"

"Fire!"

Aurelie's ears were blown by the sounds of the guns, pieces of the barricade behind her splintering. She was hit with debris, gentle as rain from the sky. Her muscles tensed as she braced herself against this onslaught, slamming her eyes shut until the initial shots had fired. From there she would be able to open her eyes and assist, but the initial sync of the many guns was shattering.

"They're coming!" Combeferre cried out, then raised his gun over the barricade. Aurelie didn't think he aimed at all. He just shot in the general vicinity, and she knew it was because the army was thick enough with bodies that any bullet would aim true.

Enjolras, however, took aim. Closing one eye, he squeezed the trigger at a man about to fire, hit him with no bullet brushing by the soldier's bayonet on the end. He had another shot with a second musket, and took it with careful aim at the very place he'd just seen the star of a gun firing, watched the man fall backwards with the blow.

He turned and threw his gun to Aurelie, and once more, in this they were connected. In the quickest of motions, she grabbed a carbine from the pavement and handed it over without him being the wiser to her presence.

She then began to load the musket he'd handed her with haste, only glancing down once to be sure she had aimed the rammer into the barrel. If he was to die, it would be with her eyes on him.

"They're coming over the Barricade!" Courfeyrac yelled, backing up and away.

"Get back!" Joly ordered.

Before this, Aurelie handed a pistol to Enjolras, then backed toward the shadows. Eponine still stood at the base, loading weapons. Taking to her knees, Aurelie crawled to grab two more muskets and get them loaded while she was in as much safety as the barricade now offered.

Still Enjolras fired with his pistol until a footman was seen face to face with him. Aurelie halted the rammer, gripping the cold barrel tightly in her fist.

Enjolras hit him over the head with his pistol and the man fell. He then snatched the bayonet the man had dropped, stabbed, then pushed the soldier's body over the other side.

The men in coats were making no progress as the Les Amis de l'ABC backed away, the barricade serving its purpose and fighting off the besiegers with ease. A head would peek over the top, then be met with a bullet.

"They're idiots!" screamed Enjolras, as a winning general would. He fired at a soldier who fell in heap. "They're getting their men killed and using up our ammunition for nothing!"

Marius placed his pistol against the chest of one and fired, the bullet exiting through his back, the explosion catching fire to the jacket, the report rising against the man's uniform to his chin.

Ripping a bayonet from a soldier atop, Enjolras led with his elbow to push him out of the way before he took aim and killed the man with the fixed blade. He then fired upon another. Bodies were falling backwards and Aurelie hadn't seen one of her own struck.

When a gun was aimed at Gavroche, Gavroche fired back with the little pistol he'd been given. He hit a shoulder, but the man fired anyway. His aim was a failure with his shoulder injured, and this seemed to be a final straw for Marius.

Hurrying down and grabbing the barrel of gun powder Grantaire had dragged from the café earlier in the day, he climbed back up top.

Little Gavroche stood below him, hollering at him to stop. "Marius, what are you doing?" he cried. "Marius! Stop! Not the powder!"

"Get down!" Enjolras ordered him, but Marius paid no attention. Aurelie guessed this was the first time Enjolras' order had been ignored. Still, Enjolras fought atop, yet would not let another man climb higher than he.

"Marius! No!" Gavroche continued to scream, his eyes locked on Marius.

Aurelie was struck with fear and unable to move, and she was not alone in this. Everything came to an abrupt pause at the barricade, both sides freezing in time. And at the same time, she held strength, again reminding herself that she would not look away, come what may. She would keep her eyes on Enjolras. Her eyes would remain on him through a last breath, be it his or hers.

"Marius, watch out!" Gavroche screamed; Marius now on the very top of the barricade as tall as the flag, the keg of powder in his right hand.

Aurelie's jaw dropped, her eyes beginning to water as a guardsman spun around and aimed his musket only a meter from Marius. She dropped down to lift a pistol from the pavement and was knocked into by Eponine as the girl burst into action.

"Marius, no!" Eponine cried, only this was with desperation, begging God in the heavens. She gripped the barrel of the gun aimed at Marius.

Turned it toward her breast.

The fire ceased as the first man of the Les Amis de l'ABC fell to the ground. Only she was a woman.

Silence.

"Fall back!" Marius ordered the soldiers, striking one on the head with the torch. "Fall back or I blow the barricade!"

A different silence.

"Blow it up and take yourself with it," a lieutenant said from the side, his musket aimed at Marius.

Aurelie heard Fueilly whisper the word _Christ _under his breath near her, and men were backing away on both sides of the barricade. She turned her attention to Marius then, saw his resolve. He would without a doubt follow through with his threat, his eyes wide and wild, his posture holding true.

Enjolras took two steps toward Marius, his stare foreboding. He had no idea Marius had this in him; hoped to God that the soldiers would back away. They weren't ready for the end yet, there was plenty more to do. The barricades could not fall the first night, all would be lost.

Worse, if this barrel was lit aflame, Aurelie would die with them all.

Breathing heavily, Marius said in little more than a whisper, "And myself with it."

The lieutenant widened his eyes as Marius lowered the torch closer to the keg. Aurelie saw the fear there, and knew neither side wanted to die. They all hoped the outcome would sway in their favor, and this was too soon.

"Back!" he screamed to his guardsmen, his tone urgent and not to be ignored. "Back!"

He climbed with haste down the other side, and Aurelie stepped from the shadows, mounted a crate near the makeshift door to see the man backing away as quickly as he could while keeping his gaze on Marius, as though Marius had descended into madness.

The army then retreated, hurrying around the corner.

Still the silence. More deafening than the shots of the guns. Only the faint cries of the soldiers in their last breath as they expired at the hands of the Les Amis de l'ABC could be heard.

Marius' eyes remained transfixed on the retreat in what Aurelie recognized as madness. Enjolras scaled the wall until he could reach the torch and took it gently from Marius' hand. There was a stunted sigh of relief through his heavy breathing as he turned away from Marius, making his way back down and away, as though Marius would still act without a flame.

* * *

Borne of Tragedy, Death in Tragedy

Eponine's cap had fallen from her head, and Aurelie locked her chin in place, body rigid and braced against a new onslaught of tears. She was trembling. Marius rushed to her, recognizing her now with the tendrils of black hair that fell down her cheeks.

It began to rain.

"Eponine," he said, his approach now slower. Solemn. "Eponine, what have you done?"

Aurelie's heart ached in devastation. This girl she'd only recently come to truly know, truly understand, had sacrificed herself for the man she loved. The man who could not return that love.

And Aurelie saw her dig in her trousers. Come up with the folded note she'd taken from the manor. "Here," she said.

Marius took the letter in his hand and stared at it blankly for a moment before he met her eyes once more, a silent query.

"It's from Cosette," Eponine said, her voice quivering. "It's for you. I found it. Kept it." Aurelie could plainly see how tormented she was by her guilt. "I'm so sorry."

Shaking his head, Marius exhaled a long sigh, his features contorted. This note meant nothing right now; Eponine was badly injured. He crumpled the paper in his fist before depositing it in his vest-pocket, the letter already forgotten before the action.

In the distance, there were voices trying to organize in the rain. But those in the general vicinity were struck to the core in heartache, seeing the girl curled into a ball against the barricade. Every man witnessing this had become taciturn.

Marius looked her over.

"What have you done?"

Aurelie then saw the love. The pain. Eponine's deep love for Marius, his love for the girl he'd toyed with before Cosette had entered the picture. _The agony of death after the agony of life._

"I am dying," Eponine said with a smile.

Marius knelt down, took her hand from her breast to expose her wound. Her shirt had pooled with the stain of blood. It was a grave wound, and Aurelie knew that in minutes, Eponine would breathe for the last time in her wretched life.

She let out a small cry as Marius touched her.

"Have I hurt you?" he asked, shying back.

Eponine's smile was pensive. "Only a little," she said as her eyes cast downward.

Aurelie knew of the double meaning in her answer. She was indeed in pain with the shot, and there was pain in her love.

"But I only touched your hand," Marius said quietly.

She raised her hand, and Aurelie saw the black hole through the palm.

"It is pierced," she said, explaining it, though no explanation was necessary. Aurelie had seen exactly what had happened, and everyone around her was looking upon the result. "A musket was aimed and it was fired."

"Aimed at me." Marius nodded while blinking the rain from his eyes, the event dawning on him. He wiped his hand across her forehead, clearing the moisture. "I'll get you a doctor."

Marius began to rise, Aurelie scanning for Combeferre or Joly so she could drag them over immediately, one foot already in motion.

But Eponine clasped his hand on the way up. "No," she pleaded, and both Marius and Aurelie froze once more. Eponine licked her lips, her head lolling to the side. "No, do not waste their time. You see, the bullet entered my hand, but continued its journey through my breast. I'll tell you how you can care for me Marius, better than any doctor. Sit with me, Marius."

Closing his eyes, Marius' chin began to tremble as he balled the dying girl up in his arms.

"There," Eponine said, pleased. Though gravely wounded, Aurelie knew that look. It was a look of bliss. The girl was already in heaven. "I no longer suffer."

She sputtered a bit, but relaxed, and Aurelie thought her dead until she rallied after half a minute.

"You see," Eponine began, and her grin turned wickedly gleeful. She placed her hand on his cheek in endearment. "You are lost, Marius. This barricade is destined to fall, as will everyone behind it. I am the first, but far from the last, yet . . . here I am anyway. I am here to die with you, knowing this. I placed my hand on the muzzle of that musket because I wished to die before you. I am so very happy, Marius. Everyone is going to die."

Aurelie blinked. Felt anger through her heartbreak. Understood how Eponine felt, even in this moment of glee through madness. Had she no life forming in her belly, she would have done the same to save Enjolras without a second thought.

Then Eponine's eyes fell toward the shadows, and Aurelie knew she was looking for her. And because those who live in the shadows see best through them, Eponine was able to make eye contact.

"You should run," she said, her lids fluttering. "Do not die with them all. Fly away, little bird. Fly to the safety of blue skies and pleasant dreams. I forbid you to follow me."

Marius, none the wiser to Aurelie's presence, began to run his hand over her cheek, assuming these words were aimed in his direction.

Aurelie, however, began to fiercely quake. And unbeknownst to her, she audibly hummed against the acute pain of it all.

"You will live, Eponine," Marius said, rocking her in his arms.

"Don't you worry, Monsieur," Eponine said, meeting his eyes once more. "My pain is over now. You are here, and I will sleep. It won't be long now."

She shook with the throes of death and the sputtering splashed two drops of blood onto her chin. Still, she smiled.

"Promise me you will give me a kiss on my brow when I am dead. I shall feel it."

Marius nodded, his rocking picking up the pace as a tear fell from his eye.

"And by the way, Monsieur Marius. I believe that I was a little bit in love with you."

She tried to smile once more, but expired.

Marius took her chin in his hands, then bestowed upon her forehead the sweetest kiss; a gift she should have received years ago and had been long earned.

Her eyes blurry with moisture, she turned to look at Enjolras. He was soaked; he'd stayed in the rain and watched it all. Drops of water fell from the blond curls to his cheeks, down his forehead. He did not close his eyes.

When he saw Eponine's last breath, he thought of Aurelie. Could not imagine his pain if this had been her. It was inconceivable to think of how he would feel with her dying in his arms. Knew that she would have done the same as this mad girl for him, just as he would for her.

That was the power of love, you see. One would risk their life for the sake of their love. He would sacrifice his for his love of Patria, but it was for Aurelie he fought to live.

He wondered if she had seen this. He could feel her, always, and she had defied him by saying she had not seen enough. No thought had been paid to her until now whilst in the middle of battle, as happened too often, and he scanned the faces around him with austerity, grieving for their first loss and hoping Aurelie was not near.

It was decided that she was. She had seen this. She wanted to see it.

With a gesture of his head, he ordered his lieutenants in silence to carry Eponine from the barricade, where this girl had bravely fought alongside him and his comrades.

Aurelie stepped from the shadows, unafraid of being noticed. She joined Courfeyrac and Joly, Fueilly and Prouvaire, Bahoret and Combeferre. She joined them in lifting Eponine from Marius' arms as he looked on in shock. Aurelie did not hide her face; Eponine did not deserve that sort of disrespect. Her head held high, she looked at Gavroche whom had tears in his eyes. Looked at Marius slumped in a heap of desolation.

She looked at Enjolras and the space around him. Saw how he ducked his head low, eyes on the pavement, and knew he was thinking of her.

Combeferre took her fully from the others to carry her further up the street, and Aurelie followed at his side as the rest walked somberly back to the barricade. He placed her upon the sidewalk under an awning; the first of a pile of bodies where the fallen insurgents would be honorably laid together, side by side.

Before taking her post once more, she entered the café to retrieve the bottle she'd dropped to drink to Eponine.

When she returned, she still refused to hide in the shadows. She needed to feel the rain, heaven crying for the loss. Eponine had been born in tragedy, had lived and died the same. She had known of the life inside of Aurelie. And in her death, she gave life to Marius; by saving him, and giving him the letter from his love.

* * *

Marius Must Decide

Breaking open the red seal, Marius began to read the letter. Its words were poetry of Cosette's love, followed by an address of where to find her before she'd cross to America. When he closed it, he clutched it in his fist, brought both hands to his mouth as he stared up at the cloudy sky. He prayed for Eponine, asked God what was expected of him; if he should stay or find Cosette.

When the rain ceased, he rose. Inside the Café Musain, he sat at a desk near the kitchen in a daze and penned a letter to Cosette. In his words, he shared the depth of his love. Promised to love her with his last thought if death came for him. Swore that if it didn't, he would spend his life loving her, and would join her once this battle had come to an end.

He brought his letter to the trunk Gavroche was living in at the barricade and opened the top.

Inside, little Gavroche had a lit lantern.

"Gavroche, will you do something for me?" he asked.

Gavroche looked at Marius solemnly. Marius had saved their lives and acted without fear over the danger befalling Gavroche.

"Anything. Without you, I'd have bitten the dust."

Marius handed over the letter and gave Gavroche the address Cosette had offered, bid him to deliver it. Aurelie heard this, not from her shadows. She still did not hide, instead sitting against the pillar of the stairs. The rain had stopped, the heavens no longer weeping over Eponine. They were now looking forward.

Gavroche climbed out of the trunk and ran with haste up the street and over the back barricade until she could no longer see his tiny body. And she was glad; the little man should not be in this dangerous place.

"Marius," she whispered. He turned and looked at her, couldn't identify the boy.

Aurelie saw his recognition once he was close, and he hunched down to affirm with his own eyes that it was her.

"Aurelie?" he asked, then glanced at Enjolras. He couldn't begin to fathom what Enjolras would think of her being here, and the thought crossed his mind to bring his attention to her presence immediately so he could get her out of here. It had never dawned on him that Eponine loved him so much she would place herself between him and a bullet. It seemed just as he'd thought he was finally understanding the magnitude of love, someone was one upping the idea and showing him the extremes of it.

"You shouldn't be here," he finally said, eyes still flicking toward Enjolras.

"I know this already."

What he would do to save Cosette if she was here, how he would fight for her safety. Enjolras would not be able to take this news. But Aurelie was equally respected and loved by every man at this barricade for her sweetness and strength. For her ability to fight, be it with bullets or a silver tongue. Aurelie, he knew, was not one to back down from any fight. And this could create a battle scene worse than what they'd experienced already.

He shuddered while envisioning the two in the middle of the square facing off, and exactly what that would do for everyone here. Shuddered further upon imagining every man here insisting she leave as she would inevitably hold her ground.

Still, this was horrible.

"You can't be here, Aurelie," Marius said, shaking his head. "You need to go."

Aurelie had been noticing how Marius' gaze darted between her and Enjolras. Everyone had looked at her as a boy; truly none other than Enjolras knew she was present. There was comfort in that, but now Enjolras had a soldier in his war against Aurelie. Someone in agreement that she needed to go. That was unacceptable.

But she did not regret grabbing his attention, as words needed to be said.

"Do not shout for him, he knows I'm here," Aurelie said.

Marius gasped. "And he approves?"

"He shoots me daggers with his eyes, fights me with side conversations, pulls me around by my arm, but I will not leave," Aurelie said. "I did not call you over to speak of him. I called you because you're in deep pain, and I wanted to say that I'm so sorry for what has happened here."

Marius knelt down before her after one last look at Enjolras. He envied their love, envied even more their strength. They had made their choices of where to stay while he was left questioning everything. He'd been stasis for five days with Cosette so near, and still so far. He'd thought he'd made his choice to fight here, but the letter had him questioning his life once more.

"Tell me," he pleaded. "Her letter said they were about to cross the sea. Do I stay or do I go find her?"

This Aurelie could not answer. Had the question been posed by Enjolras himself, she would not have had an answer either. She could not tell a man how to express his love, only to feel it as he acted the way he must.

Taking her hand between his, he searched her eyes, then continued: "My life without her means nothing, so if I stay to fight, I am to die. Would she weep, Aurelie?"

"Yes, Marius. She would weep for you deeply for the rest of her life."

Marius understood. "As you would for him," he said, nodding his head over his shoulder, gesturing behind him.

Her eyes flicked to Enjolras. Her heart was weeping already; it was only in the case of his death that tears would leave her eyes.

"Yes," she said with gravity.

"What is right, dear Aurelie?" Marius asked, scooting closer to her. "What is better for a woman from a man? His strength and honor or his love?"

"I do not know, Marius," she answered. "I've offered both, and both have been offered to me. I have yet to decide which is held more dearly, as I'm not sure which I love of him more. He comes to me with all, and if one was missing I would not know him."

At this, Marius sat down fully beside her and leaned against the barricade, still clutching her hand.

"You are a wonder," he said, as no other words could express his admiration. "The both of you never cease to astound everyone on your own, and knowing the secret that you are a force together, it is even more transcendent! How do you manage it, Aurelie? How do you manage to fight him and concord all at once?"

"I suppose the answer to that is complex, but uttered simply," Aurelie said. "Love."

"But it is love that leaves me with questions!" Marius argued, exasperated. "I cannot figure out who I am while you both remain steadfast!"

Aurelie sighed with a gentle smile. "You are the same, Marius. You have not changed because of love, you are the better for it. If Cosette were here, you would be horrified, and you would fight her, and you would admire her at the same time. You would not question. It's only that she could disappear forever that leaves you with choices, for if she was here, there would be no option presented."

"I do not think she is the sort to hide under a cap and sit in battle," Marius said with a hint of dark humor.

"I think love would surprise you, then," Aurelie responded. "When it's true love, there is no other place to be considered. You cannot decide because of your love, and if she knew you were here, you'd likely find her beside me dressed as a boy already."

Marius sighed with the weight of it all.

"We should have lived different lives, the three of us."

"The four of us, yes," Aurelie agreed, adding Cosette into the equation. She knew Cosette without ever having laid eyes on her. Cosette's love for him in a glance, the love returned. How Cosette would weep if Marius fell. "All of us should lead lives the country has been unable to give us, which is what leads us here. To honor, to the barricade, to love and to grief. But we are living the lives we were meant to live. We all understand the higher call, which is why we stay."

"Why I'll stay," Marius decided.

"It's why we all do," Aurelie agreed, staring at Enjolras.

Upon noticing Bossuet and Joly were handing out bottles of wine to little groups for them to share, Aurelie located the bottle she'd retrieved from the tavern earlier that had gone forgotten in the madness. Uncorking the top, she held it over to Marius.

"How can a funeral be a celebration of victory?" Marius asked quietly, then took a gulp. Around him, the mood was still somewhat somber, but had returned to life. Losses had been expected, and not knowing the time they had left, they were sharing a drink of camaraderie.

"Such is war," Aurelie said grimly, the bottle returned to her.

"You've been loading our guns," Marius pointed out after his second swig, now passing the bottle back and forth.

"I have."

"You're fierce."

"When the time comes, I will be fiercer still."

Aurelie took a sip, then held the bottle to him with the action of a toast. Faced with hopelessness, the wine soothed, and she envied Grantaire's slumber once more.

"As will you," she added thoughtfully. "What you did there saved everyone's lives. Ask me your question again, Marius. Ask me what you should do, because after what you did with the barrel, I'll insist selfishly that you stay to save us all again. You saved my love, and through that, you saved me. Ask it now, for if you ask me again in five minutes, I will shoo you away to run."

Marius chuckled. "Has he shooed you?"

"Oh, I've lost count of how many times now," Aurelie replied, echoing the dark laugh.

"And how far did that get you?"

"Let's see. To Bastille, to Saint-Michel. To my room, to the café. To the pillar, to the barricade."

Marius shrugged. "Seems his ability to shoo you doesn't push you more than a few meters from him at a time."

"Precisely."

"To the only mistress I've ever wished for and never had," Bossuet said loudly near the top of the barricade, lifting his bottle to the air. "Mam'selle Aurelie, I drink on the eve of my death to you."

Enjolras snatched the bottle from him before he could make it near his mouth.

"Hey!"

Wetting his lips and locking his jaw was always a sign of Enjolras' determination. "We drink to those around us, tonight," he said, then indulged with a healthy gulp. "If you wish to toast, you toast to Patria, not to a mistress you could have never attained."

Marius and Aurelie alike ducked their heads into a silent fit of laughter.

"He's so transparent now, it's a wonder I never noticed," Marius burst, however only enough to reach the ears of Aurelie.

"I admire you," Bossuet cried, leaping to his feet and pointing at Enjolras with the bottle, addressing all. "You live alone, which renders you sad. You complain of your greatness, as we all know you are, and it is your greatness that binds you to widowhood. We all have our mistresses, and they make us crazy! But with our crazy, we become brave. When we're in love as a tiger, we fight like lion. A man without a woman is a pistol without a trigger; it's the woman who sets the man off. You, Enjolras. You have no woman, you are not in love, yet you manage to be intrepid!"

This mockery sobered Aurelie's fit of laughter, Marius as well.

"Hence the secret," she said grimly.

Enjolras eyed everyone levelly, taking a second to gaze into each of their eyes before moving to the next. "If we come out of this alive, you will know my trigger," he said daringly. "But it is Patria I die for."

Aurelie was stunned he'd even begin to admit it, even if it was only a hint that was lost in the wording, as it was clear by the little chuckles they had misunderstood. They could see him as nothing other than a chaste god, and would never believe it if Enjolras clutched her to him and announced his love. It would be laughed at, viewed as putting on a good show. Little did they know.


	11. Book Eleven: Stars Align

**BOOK ELEVEN:**

**Stars Align**

* * *

Love Borne in a Glance

_Aurelie arrived in a carriage wearing her burgundy travel attire, her trunk packed with fine clothing. With the death of her father, no one had been left but her cousin and his family on a farm in the south. She'd always hoped to further her education and to give her life more meaning. While a life lived had meaning, she wanted hers to be following the footsteps of her father and brother, not a milkmaid. _

_Benoit was overcome with joy when he'd seen her carriage, and embraced her tightly the second she had climbed out as he lifted her feet from the pavement, spinning her in a circle. "How happy I am that you are here," he exclaimed. "My dear sister, I can't wait to share my world here with you."_

_"And what a world it is," Aurelie said, looking around Place Saint Michel. She had expected different surroundings; higher living to go with his higher education. And still this place, for reason unknown, felt right. Something was in the air here that gave her elation, and it was more than just her brother. _

_"Let us take your things to our room," he said, hoisting a trunk to his shoulder. She followed him to a building behind a bustling café, up to the second floor where he opened a door. _

_This was nothing like what she'd grown up in, and she did not care. The life of privilege had meant nothing. Living for another day was a bore when you have it all. When you have nothing more to live for. Here, everyone lived for another day, but worked for the right to it. _

_"I'll leave you to change," Benoit said once her trunks had been deposited on the floor near a table. He left the room, closing the door behind him._

_Aurelie gazed out the window and realized how inappropriate her dress would feel down on the streets. Everything she owned had embroidery and lace adorning the brightly colored garments. Everyone below was dirty and poor, though some stood out in the crowd. There was a woman and a man purchasing meats from a deli who had obviously come from elsewhere to buy. A blond man entered the café in a bright red jacket, looking rather resplendent. Otherwise everyone blended in to a sea of browns and greys, and she would strive to do the same._

_Taking out a dress that had a purple corset, she held it up, scrutinizing the fabric and colors. The sheer above the corset was the color of bark on a tree, which seemed to blend with the dirty clothes below if no one knew better. _

_So picking up a knife on the table, she slit a hole in the sheer at the shoulder. Looking around the room, she found a match beside her brother's pipe. Lighting it, she held it to the corset and let it brown a patch at the stomach. Tossing it to the floor, she did not think of the money that had paid for this dress, only that it needed a different kind of attention paid. _

_After stomping it with her boots on the dirty floorboards, then scraping it across to let the fabric texture against the splinters, she raised it to admire her handiwork. _

_Here, she did not want to stand out. She was not a visitor. Here she a resident. _

_While the purple was still a little too bright for her newfound taste, she found she loved the dress more than she had when it had been made for it. Remembered how she'd thought the seamstress terrible, which she still believed; the seamstress had done far too good of a job. It was just now that it had become her favorite. _

_Benoit leaned against the brick wall outside, and he gasped as Aurelie walked out. He'd only recognized her hair, not her personage. He reached for the skirt and gripped a fistful of fabric. "Aurelie, what have you done?"_

_Pursing her lips, Aurelie looked down at the dusted skirt, how the fabric had threads pulling free. "I do not care to remember the life we lived, Benoit," she said, then shrugged. "Ma and Pa are lost now, and I'm home here with you."_

_A strange thing, Benoit thought. His sister was beautiful even in this state of dress. But she became more lovely with this action, because she'd noticed the world outside the safety of the walls they'd grown up in. It had taken him longer than a glance at it to understand, yet she knew of it in the first minutes. _

_Taking her hand, he said to her, "Let me take you to supper."_

_Aurelie laughed with delight. "You'll allow me to be seen with you in a dirty dress?"_

_"I love you more for it," he said, then kissed her cheek. _

_They walked into the Café Musain together. It was a lively scene: local drunkards doing what they knew best. Local thieves doing what they must. Local citizens trading their precious coins for a full belly. She'd arrived with what little money her family had left, which was far more than she'd need here, yet found she wanted none of it. She would earn her keep here. But tonight she would dine._

_They spent an hour feasting, sipping their wine. A bottle later, Aurelie felt the drink in her brain and had transitioned from the proper manners she'd been taught as a lady into a girl who could laugh and scream with glee. She'd always had a wild and defiant streak to her, but had been scolded when it was overly present. In creating this new life, she could be who she had always been._

_They shared memories of growing up in mockery, a life that had ended. She knew not what life she would lead now, and was exhilarated with the uncertainty. _

_"Come with me," Benoit said, rising and taking her hand. "This is not where I usually spend my time."_

_Aurelie stood as he gestured his head to the ceiling, then proceeded to follow him to the staircase. He turned around and took the first few backwards. "You'll meet my friends," he said with excitement and pride. "My classmates and comrades. We are the _Les Amis de l'ABC!"

_There was a spiral staircase, and shoes came into focus. The crowd was raucous, the men up here obviously filled with more drink than she'd consumed. And when trousers were level with her head, she noticed they were all men. This she was not accustomed to._

_"Benoit," she hissed. Where she came from, supper was shared, then the women took to the drawing room while the men stayed behind to speak of things they could not share in front of the women. That didn't mean she wouldn't spy and think them absurd for not allowing her presence. "Should I even be up here?"_

_Benoit laughed loudly. "This is a different life, Aurelie. You'll hear far worse than anything said in the other room when you retired, it's time to get used to it now."_

_Aurelie gulped. She had entered foreign territory today, but it's easier change a presentation than to change a mind. Her hand taken by her brother, she finished the climb._

_Every man here was Benoit's age, and there was little food, mostly empty plates. Bottles of wine sat on every table, some full, many polished off. Her eyes widened as she saw a man with dark unruly hair standing on top of a chair, reciting a love poem in mockery while pointing at a redhead below. She'd never seen anyone so taken with drink as he, and the men who surrounded him laughed so hard she thought they may pass out._

_Benoit chuckled a growl in the back of his throat, noticing how Aurelie's eyes had popped, transfixed on Grantaire's escapades. _

_"Pay no attention to him," he said through his laugh, sucked in a snort. "You will love him the way one loves a lost puppy. He's entirely out of his mind until he sleeps."_

_"Benoit!" a balding man shouted, then rushed over to him and clapped his hand on her brother's back. He looked Aurelie over. "Who do you have on your arm?"_

_And that tone was teasing, the question insinuating more._

_"My sister, Aurelie," he said proudly, though distancing himself with his tone so Bossuet didn't get the wrong impression. "This is Bossuet."_

_"Laigle," the Monsieur said, offering her his hand. He swayed slightly, though his eyes were trained in hers with intent. She'd had this effect on men, but felt free here to laugh about it publicly, which she did while placing her hand in his. "Bossuet is but a nickname."_

_"Monsieur," she said, bowing her head. The poor man was aged from his lack of hair, though only a few years older judging by his youthful face._

_He grinned, smitten. Was able to pull her from the arm of her brother. "Come with me," he said as Benoit laughed through a roll of his eyes. His poor sister! "Share my wine."_

_"And his bed!" someone yelled, and Aurelie froze as though she'd run into a wall. It was only a moment before she realized this was teasing in the way men would, though was unfamiliar with this sort of vulgarity, and she turned around and laughed with the sublime shock of it all._

_At the table, Aurelie was handed an empty goblet that was quickly filled. _

_"This is Aurelie, the sister of our Benoit!" Bossuet hollered over the table. All eyes turned to her, and she tilted her chin to her shoulder and curtsied playfully. _

_"Monsieurs," she said with a wide grin._

_Courfeyrac had halted his discussion of the election with Enjolras and looked beyond him to see a beautiful girl beside Bossuet and Benoit. _

_Upon finding Courfeyrac's attention had been lost, Enjolras rolled his eyes with a sardonic grin and looked over his shoulder. His grin suddenly left his face as though he'd been slapped and his lips slightly parted. Slowly, he swiveled the rest of his body in line with his head until he faced the girl. She was laughing at Bossuet as she brought the goblet to her lips. Angels could not rival that laugh, and her golden hair and blue eyes were to be envied by heaven. _

_Her eyes then met his, and everything he'd ever believed to be true faded into the light of this woman. He'd heard of love, knew some poems and songs. Had seen his friends ooh and ahh over women, and he'd teased them for it. He'd roll his eyes and think them absurd._

_It was the man in the red jacket, Aurelie realized. The blond curls she'd seen as she'd looked down at the street studying the attire to observe what she'd have to do to fit in here. She'd only seen his crown as he'd entered the café, and only now remembered how when her carriage had approached, she'd looked upon this wretched place knowing she was at home._

_She now understood why. She'd died too young with the deaths of her parents; that life had ended. She'd lived in uncertainty, wondering when her new life would begin._

_Here she was reborn, and it was realized through the eyes of this man. The man in the red jacket. _

_In a glance, she found the stories were true: Love can strike one breathless. God had taken longer to create the world than he could create love, and love she now knew was more magnanimous than the earth._

_"A pleasure," she heard a voice in the background, bringing her back from the heavens into the world. Realized that a man was standing across the table with his hand out to her, and it was clear she'd missed the introduction._

_"Yes," she said, though glanced at the man in the red jacket again. She would be hard pressed to stop, her soul gravitating toward him. "I'm sorry," she said, furrowing her brows. "I missed your name."_

_"Combeferre," he said, and she finally took the hand offered. It was kissed, and she released it with haste. _

_Despite all effort, Enjolras' brain was losing the war. He could look nowhere else, could not form a coherent thought. Couldn't begin to fathom how he'd lost himself. He no longer knew who he was, something he'd always been so sure of. _

_"Oi! Enjolras!" Bossuet yelled, and Enjolras snapped from his reverie with a shudder. Located Bossuet to the left of this girl. Bossuet's head was thrown back with a stupefied expression. "Benoit's sister! Can you fathom it!?"_

_"Oh, yes," Benoit said, rushing to Enjolras' side. He wildly gestured to Aurelie. He didn't think it odd that he felt as though he were introducing his sister to a king, because it was very much that. Enjolras was the embodiment of what every man strived to be. _

_Enjolras rose slowly, his mouth finally closing and only so he could swallow. _

_Benoit placed his hands on Enjolras' shoulders. "This is the man I wrote about," he said eagerly. He'd moved to Paris for college, but it was to Place Saint Michel he'd settled to be nearer to Enjolras. Though Enjolras had wealth, as did Benoit, they strived to surround themselves with what needed to be changed. Enjolras had shown him the world for what it was, giving him the most powerful of virtues: Conviction. "The one who aided in the July Revolution. Since then, he's been speaking to the people."_

_As if Enjolras could speak on the world now. He knew things. He knew of the world and how it should be. But if asked to speak of this moment in time, he would have no words. _

_So Aurelie had been in love with this man in the red coat before she'd seen him; it was only laying eyes upon him that her love had become realized. She'd loved him through the letters her brother had sent. How much Benoit respected him. She'd felt the passion in Benoit's words as he spoke of politics, things he had seen that were not right. And when they were attached with the preface of "Enjolras' says . . .", the ideals that followed had made her in love with the ghost who had originally spoke them. _

_Though she certainly had not imagined him to be as beautiful as this._

_Enjolras rallied because he had to. He would not be perceived by his peers as weakened for a woman, however weakened he'd become. For all his disapproving looks he'd offered when his friends were in this position, he would take their jabs tenfold. _

_"Monsieur," Aurelie said, though it came out through breath only. It seemed that they had fallen in love, though she could not assume this upon him. She only knew she had, and that was enough. _

_"Aurelie," Enjolras said, bowing his head with respect and awe. He held his hand out, and the moment hers was curved over his fingers, he felt a connection of their souls; hers entering his and melding together. It could be no other way. _

_And he had yet to bring his lips to her hand. He'd never done so, never bestowed a kiss on any hand in his life. But there was an exigency for his lips to meet her skin, and he did so with a prayer upon them. _

_Benoit noticed something, could not pinpoint what it was because it was too impossible. But his eyes darted between them and the world hushed, though the room was actually quite loud. There was recognition nagging his brain, but was preposterous. The thought of Enjolras having been affected was only something joked about behind his back, and even then, with great respect that Enjolras never wavered._

_When Enjolras' mouth turned to a pensive smile, Aurelie's world changed again. She wondered if everything would be in a state of metamorphosis from here out, as it seemed this man had the power to change her at every turn. It was dizzying the way this affected her. And she ducked her head to hide the grin that she would not allow him to see, was too embarrassed that her muscles were heading that way. _

_"Enjolras!" a voice called, but he did not recognize it. Her voice was the only sound he would hear. But he looked over to find Grantaire waving for his attention. "Join us in a game of Faro?"_

_Enjolras rolled his eyes. "And at what point have I joined you before?"_

_"Never!" Grantaire and those he sat with shouted, raising their bottles to the sky. "Benoit!" Grantaire attempted. "Give us your money, rich boy!"_

_Benoit laughed and leaned into his sister; she was quite fine on her own and always had been. "You won't mind if I leave you?" he asked, rarely ever missing an opportunity to gamble with Grantaire. Depending on his level of drink, it could land him very well off or quite poor, but they evened out in the end. _

_Enjolras hoped Benoit would go, and as Aurelie said, "Of course, my brother," the corner of his lip twitched. He fought that he wanted to smile. _

_Aurelie lifted her glass to her brother. "I will sit and sip my wine while you go lose us a fortune," she teased. "Please leave us our warm beds!"_

_Bossuet quickly pulled a chair from the table and gestured for her to sit with great theatrics. She laughed at this, and it did not go unnoticed that everyone in her proximity had lit up; it was that they only noticed it in themselves. _

_After a courtesy and a "Thank you, Monsieur," Aurelie sat and took a sip of her wine. She was on the corner, Enjolras at the head of the table. He swung his chair around; it had previously been facing the table behind them while he'd been debating with Courfeyrac. _

_"Tell me, Aurelie," Bossuet began. "How in the name of God are you related to that rather ordinary brother of yours?"_

_Aurelie's laugh was low, now in the mood to play like a man. Benoit was not close to ordinary in looks nor thought, but the compliment had been received in that form, and she was ready to fire back just as teasingly._

_"God overcompensates."_

_Everyone around her laughed riotously. _

_"That he does!" Bossuet hollered, his eyes wide. She was a beauty and quick witted. "It seems when he's finished the first, he decides to one up himself, as is evident."_

_Aurelie eyed him levelly after sipping from her cup. "Now, you tell me, Monsieur. Have you any siblings?"_

_Bossuet nodded. "Aye, an older sister."_

_"I can see that God had little left for you," Aurelie fired. _

_This was when Enjolras chuckled in surprise as he saw every man at the table lean back in their chairs, laughing themselves red. _

_"You wouldn't believe that if you saw her. She is ghastly!" Bossuet said back, having now leaned forward on the table, taken by this woman who defied all logic and reasoning. She was spectacular!_

_"And what does that make you?" Combeferre asked, slapping Bossuet on the back._

_Bossuet feigned a wound. "Why, the god of the sun. As the mam'selle said: God over compensates!"_

_"And then he perfects creation with Enjolras here," a red haired man said, pushing Enjolras from behind as he passed by, enough for Enjolras to lose his elbows on the table._

_"Already lost your money, Joly?" Bossuet asked of him._

_Joly slumped down at the far end of the table. "You, you're Benoit's sister?"_

_"I am."_

_"Then I'll do my begging to you, for I have too much pride to beg of him," Joly said, roughly grabbing his mug of ale and tossing it back. He slammed it on the table. "Get my money back, I beg of you, Mam'selle!"_

_"You're pathetic, my friend," Courfeyrac said, then turned his attention back to Aurelie. "Tell us what brings you here?"_

_Enjolras was noticing how all his friends were smitten by this woman. It made him feel less guilt for his awestruck state, but there was something else there. _

_Envy. _

_The ugliest of them all was rearing its monstrous head. They had her attention while he did not, yet felt he could not command it._

_"The horrible truth of it? Or the lie that offers sunshine and rainbows?"_

_"Sunshine and rainbows exist?" Joly scoffed._

_Aurelie had to force herself not to look to her right at the man who embodied both. But she could aim her words._

_"They do, and they are no lie," she answered Joly. "I find them here, but that is only after the horrible truth. What brings me here is the death of our father."_

_Enjolras recognized a window when he saw one, and took this opportunity to enter the light._

_"He was prisoner," he said austerely. "Benoit said he had been arrested here for treason."_

_The mood had become intensely somber with what Aurelie had called her horrible truth._

_"He fought for Napoleon until 1811," Aurelie said with a firm nod, stating this with detachment from her emotions. "He joined General Lamarque at the Revolution in The United States. It was on his return that he began to fight back behind closed doors and speak against the sovereign of King Charles the Tenth, and his title was stripped. The lands were confiscated when he died a month ago."_

_Enjolras felt his rage boiling. "Had he lived another month, he would have been freed," he said under his breath. "And how do you feel about Louis Philippe?"_

_Aurelie eyed him levelly, and without hesitation said, "Lamarque declined a seat, we voted in another king. The three days in July meant nothing."_

_"You believe this?" Enjolras asked in surprise. He had been proud of July, proud of the people who had fought for a fresh start, and Lamarque had supported Louis Philippe._

_Many debates had taken place, her father and brother having always been political. She'd been a part of quite a few with them. This was the first she'd spoken freely out of the confines of her former residence, and it was only because of the god before her._

_"I believe we now live under a con of democracy with the name Constitutional Monarchy. The result? A dictatorship."_

_Enjolras was stunned by this, eyes widening, jaw forward. "It cannot be a dictatorship when it was a duke who was voted in."_

_Aurelie simply shrugged. He'd made her point for her. _

_"And therein lies the con," she said._

_"You've got to be kidding me," Courfeyrac breathed, shaking his head in disbelief. "Are you real?"_

_"I mean what I say, yes Monsieur," Aurelie replied strongly. Fear was there, but fear did not change what she believed to be a fact, and if she was thrown out of here for speaking it, she would have done her father proud._

_"Indeed you do," Courfeyrac said with a firm nod. "That's not what I'm questioning." He shot his eyes around the table, everyone having focused entirely on what was taking place. And he grinned. "Are you a woman arguing with our Enjolras, or am I in a dream? Even we struggle with our resolves around him."_

_It's worth explaining the table. Not one man sitting at it had taken their attention away from Aurelie, and Enjolras had simply entered her plain. Most were taken with her, Bossuet wanting to bed her, Enjolras falling madly in love at her every word. Courfeyrac had been listening with his clever ears, gaping as this girl freely stated a political opinion. Aurelie, for the first time in her life, felt free here in her new life, and she had much to say, despite any repercussion. _

_"I must say, I've never heard a woman speak of politics," Combeferre said. "It's astounding."_

_"One second," Enjolras said contemplatively, holding his hand in the air so they'd stop speaking of her so he could speak to her. "We may have voted in a duke, but he was not the natural succession of a monarchy."_

_"No, that was the little Duke of Bordeaux," Aurelie agreed. She leaned forward, placing a delicate hand on the table between them. "It doesn't strike you as odd that the deposition of King Charles with a revolution ended up with another King? There was a vote, no? The people try to break free of succession and find themselves once more in a system that allows it."_

_"Yet you say the three days in July were for nothing?"_

_Aurelie shook her head. "They were for everything," she stated passionately. "Charles limited the people, and they fired back. But he was the cause of his demise; it was the people who secured it. But we are three weeks out of our chamber having made Louis Philippe King, and while I see smiles and cheers, another monarch is still a failure. Tell me this: do you believe General Lamarque would have allowed himself to be called 'King'?"_

_Enjolras leaned ever further; they were getting closer and closer to each other through the heated discussion. "Be that as it may, we are now a monarchy to the people, not the territory. This is a liberal man, a man of the people. A brother of General Lamarque transcending blood. A country puts a monarch in front of me and I will show you a broken territory, but a republic can spring from a king like ours. Here I present you with hope! His ascension to the throne alone held no pomp and circumstance. The money will spread to the people rather than sucked into vaults, a free education for the masses is around the corner! Voices will be heard through this man. You are disillusioned out of grief."_

_Eyes round and wide, Aurelie breathed through flared nostrils. "You dare to tell me what fans my flame?" she cried, though not in a screech of an angry woman. It was an oddity that she felt such rage and love at once, when she should have slapped his face. _

_Enjolras realized what he had said. It was nothing he wouldn't have said to any of his friends, but this exquisite woman should not have been spoken to like that. Interestingly, he had forgotten during their debate that she was a woman he had fallen in love with the second they'd met eyes. _

_Impossibly, this made him love her all the more. _

_"Mam'selle . . ." he began, but he didn't know how to apologize for himself; he'd never had to before. "The two are unrelated. You have every right to be disillusioned in response to what you've seen. We all are with a history such as ours, but this is a glimmer of light."_

_"A very small one," Aurelie conceded with a gentle smile. To accentuate this, she touched her thumb and forefinger together to indicate exactly how miniscule it was. _

_"I am agog," Bossuet said, slowly shaking his head and staring at the two, having been dumbstruck for the past few minutes as their argument heated up. It was a cockfight with the feathers of peacocks. "Mam'selle, you may be giving Apollo a run for his money."_

_It was ineffable to Enjolras how astounded he was by Aurelie, and each second, even while silent, he was loving her a little more. _

_It didn't take too long to find mutual ground to stand upon once they got speaking of the future, holding the very same ideals with passion, and those around them could do nothing but listen intently and gaze at the two, unable to remove their eyes from the magnificent display. _

_Hours later, adieu's were bid, and Aurelie looked over at Enjolras until the very last second before he disappeared from eyesight down the stairs. Her brother accompanied her, having won a few francs, and once upstairs, they climbed into their beds and slept._

_What Enjolras didn't know then was that she had started his war._

* * *

The Ease of the Word Love When Felt Completely

_The following morning, Aurelie rose early at the noise of her brother shuffling through the room. It was a wonder that the second she'd become conscious, she was wide awake, so she sat up on the mattress without a stretch. _

_"I'm off to the clinic," Benoit said to her, then leaned down and kissed her forehead. "Café for supper?" Aurelie nodded at him and smiled sweetly. "If you feel like visiting me, ask for directions to Depuytrin's."_

_"I may."_

_Throwing herself down on the mattress once he'd shut the door, Aurelie stretched in reverie under the light of the sun through the windowpane. A muscle had knotted overnight by the strange lumps in the mattress, but she did not care. She'd never been alive until last night. Upholding the standards of her family had often times left her lonely and idle; it took this place of survival to give her meaning. She did not want to recognize that it seemed it had also taken Enjolras to make her whole here. _

_Though with her brother at work, she had no idea what she could spend her time doing. _

_It was then that a thought struck her, and in short order, she had sat rigid on the mattress, staring at her trunk. Her wardrobe was not apropos; all designed and sewn for her body by a seamstress. She'd made good work of her dress last night, but the bright pink ruffles and yellow silks would not do, no matter how annihilated at her hands. _

_In no time, she was dressed and had her hair up in pins. Because she could not carry her trunks, she began throwing her dresses into a suitcase that belonged to her brother, stuffed so full she needed to plant herself atop just to clasp it shut. All she'd saved were her undergarments and travelling clothes, one crème dress should she need something suitable for a fancy occasion. The rest of her belongings books and hobbies. _

_It was no small feat to carry the case, but she was strong and lugged it out to the street, sweat building on her brow and chest. The sun was cruel on this July morning, and France was funny with weather changes; it had rained the day before. This created a steam of humidity. But determination ran deep. _

_"Save a life, mam'selle?" a man begged, coaxing his hand in urgent circles, beckoning her to a shoddy shelter. She could hear the cries of a newborn and quickly dodged over to the tent. Inside, a woman cradled a child, tears streaming down her face. _

_"Oh, heavens!" Aurelie cried. _

_"'tis cholera, mam'selle!" she cried. "The doctor won't help without his due. Please, mam'selle, I beg of you. Save my child!"_

_Aurelie dug in her purse and counted her coins. She was easily able to offer enough for all the doctors in France with what she had upstairs, but she managed enough with what her purse contained, which was quite a lot. But it mattered little; she had a new life and no longer wanted what money her family had left. She would earn her keep, possibly proving to Enjolras that she had strength enough to stand on her own in these wretched slums. _

_While heading to break his fast, Enjolras spotted Aurelie exiting the tent with Monsignor Jondrette and he let out a loud "Augh" of exasperation. His heart had skipped a beat, and that was why he craved her company. But she would need a hand held in these first few days as to not be taken in by the thieves. _

_It was, of course, his duty to hold her hand. _

_In this world of greys and browns, a red jacket stands out in a crowd. His necktie did not knot, just crossed once down his chest over a white shirt, a vest left unbuttoned and barely visible under his jacket. _

_A red jacket stands out in a crowd, but Aurelie had looked nowhere else. And he was walking her way. _

_"Mam'selle."_

_"Monsieur."_

_"I have bad news for you," Enjolras said. _

_"And that is?"_

_"You have just been taken."_

_"Taken?"_

_"Yes. They are the Jondrette's, formerly Thenardier. Had to change their name when their inn went bankrupt, though they were always tricksters. Beware of them, they will rob without the trickery." _

_Aurelie thought she could outwit anyone, and could, as had been proven last night. But she was not accustomed to cons, and she began to laugh. _

_"Rats!"_

_Enjolras widened his eyes with a laugh he'd never given. "I tell you you've lost your money, and you simply say Rats?"_

_Aurelie shrugged. "What can I do? It's clear they live an unhappy life despite the worldly possessions they steal. No coins I give them can buy my happiness."_

_It was curious, this girl. He was astounded by her. _

_"What's that you carry?" _

_Aurelie lifted her case a bit. "Some things to sell."_

_"You need the money then?"_

_"Not at all. Only to buy a new life."_

_"Let me escort you?"_

_"It's clear to me now I need it."_

_"I don't believe you do," Enjolras disagreed. "But I have my Saturday free and would like nothing more than to get to know you."_

_"Are we going to fight again?" Aurelie challenged teasingly._

_Enjolras laughed. "I'll be on my best behavior."_

_"Then you can show me a consignment shoppe?"_

_"It's a walk. Let me carry this for you."_

_He took the case from her, brushing against her hand. Wondered if her skin would always affect him, and thought he must return to his determination. _

_Tomorrow. _

_On the way, Enjolras pointed out places she could find what she'd need while living here. They walked by the university and he told her of the classes he shared with her brother, which transitioned into his studies. But he found himself caring far more about her experiences than his own, so he asked questions of her. _

_At the shop, Aurelie took the case and set it upon the floor. Once opened, she turned to the shop keeper. "Take what you wish, anything else I'll give to those on the street. Know that you can make a profit from all before you turn anything away."_

_She was paid well for the entire contents, and Enjolras watched her beautiful clothes—clothes she was born to wear yet would not—handed over to the shopkeeper without a look of despair on her face. He did not know a woman who didn't crave finer things._

_"Did you keep anything?" he asked her._

_"What I wear on my back, for the most part," she returned, taking the francs from the shopkeeper. _

_Brushing the fine silks in the shop, Enjolras said, "And what will you buy?"_

_Coins in her purse, Aurelie gathered up the empty case. "Nothing here," she said. "Is there a marketplace?"_

_"Yes," he responded, then gestured outwardly with both hands. "It's called the street. Anywhere on all boulevards, someone is selling or stealing, most at the same time."_

_"Then let us refill this case before we return," Aurelie said. _

_Enjolras could not understand her, she was an enigma. Well born women he'd known around the University would parade their finest around him; copies of exactly what she'd just sold off. He was well aware of the effect he had on women his age, but his eye had never been caught and he had submitted himself to bachelorhood long ago. He instead lived for a republic and dedicated all his love to his studies._

_ At the blankets spread on the pavement; at the little stands and tables; Aurelie purchased the most muted clothing she could find without trying any on. She would hold one up, turn to him and ask if it suited her. His response every time was that no, it did not, and she'd toss a few sous to the salesman and load it up in the suitcase. He wanted to add that she would be lovely in potato sacks, but would not let those words leave his mouth. He did not want to give her any ideas that would leave her purchasing burlap from the café._

_It was a perfect day. The warmth of the sun was Heaven's approval of Aurelie's love, and to spend this glorious day creating her new life with Enjolras at her side was meant to be. If something looked as though it would fit, Aurelie bought it and would tailor it in her room once alone. _

_Benoit was just returning from work when he saw Aurelie and Enjolras together, also arriving after a day out. Enjolras was carrying _his_ suitcase, though obviously done for Aurelie. And he peered at them strangely, wondering exactly how this had come to be._

_"Oh, Benoit!" Aurelie cried as she spotted her brother. With a glance at Enjolras, she ran toward Benoit and embraced him. "How was your day?"_

_Eying Enjolras as he grew closer, he said, "Was any other day," without looking at his sister, instead studying Enjolras and unable to pin exactly why. "And you?"_

_"She was taken," Enjolras said, having caught up. He set the suitcase down on the pavement, gazed down at Aurelie, endeared by her, before catching himself in this gaze and straightening it out. _

_"Taken?"_

_"By the Jondrette's."_

_"Oh, no . . ." Benoit groaned, thinking he should have expected it with Aurelie's kindness._

_"I felt a duty in making sure the rest of her day went without incident," Enjolras explained. "I made sure to escort her to the places she asked for."_

_Benoit rolled his eyes, thanking God Enjolras had been there while he worked. While Aurelie would be the first to match words, she was in a new element here and had been ignorant to the ways of the streets. He thanked Enjolras with his eyes and a nod before turning and asking, "Aurelie, honestly! How much?" _

_"A few sous," she admitted. "I gave them enough for a doctor."_

_"So a few francs, you mean," Benoit said, then narrowed his eyes. "A Gold Napoleon?"_

_Aurelie straightened her back. "You and I fought over who had more of a right to reject our inheritance. I was the one who ended up stuck with it, so I don't believe you get to say what comes of it."_

_Enjolras' tightened his lips so the laughter would not burst from him._

_"There's so little left anyway," Aurelie said. "I sent nearly everything to our cousin, and we both know that will run out in short order with their afflictions. You and I agree we don't want it. If you're so worried, I made more than I gave selling off my clothes."_

_"You sold your clothes?" Benoit demanded._

_She shrugged. "I bought new ones."_

_"Perhaps you can enlighten me, my friend," Enjolras said, sliding his hands into his pockets in amusement. "Your sister sold off all her gowns this morning and refilled this case with smocks."_

_Benoit sighed, this time with love for his sister. He looked down at the dress she'd ruined last night, again taken with how perceptive she was. _

_"She wishes to fit in here," explained Benoit. "She's begged for years to come live with me so she could learn through my books instead of my letters. It was only that Pa died and the land transferred to another lord that she was able to."_

_"I was who forced him to decline the money," Aurelie said. "He was only going to take it so I could continue to live, purchase a new piece of land, but that was a lonely life."_

_"As I said, she wanted to be here. She's smart, Enjolras."_

_"I found that," Enjolras agreed. _

_A glance of mutual adoration was shared, though neither knew fully to what extent the other felt._

_The wonder was in Benoit as he further examined Enjolras, looking for a sign. Coming up empty, as he always had while trying to understand the emotions behind the man, he shrugged. Benoit had drawn the attention of many girls, had flirted incessantly with them in return. He had seen how Enjolras seemed ignorant to the women in love with him, and this was not what he had witnessed before. They were lost in each other here. _

_"It seems today I don't have her attention," Benoit noted with the raise of a brow, confounded by what he was witnessing._

_It was then that he caught it. The tiniest muscle twitch at the corner of Enjolras' mouth. It was the most Enjolras would ever give in regards to anything but politics and philosophy, but relaying this hint had given him away. Benoit didn't know what to think. Enjolras was steel; strong, honorable, intellectual, and a pillar everyone he knew leaned upon. The idea of anyone penetrating this was absurd, yet Aurelie had. _

_He wasn't sure why he was fearful over this, as he could see no man more worthy of his sister than Enjolras. They were equally steadfast and often times intolerable. Likely the perfect pair, possibly able to temper the other. That, or inflame. But he worried for Aurelie if she ended up entwined with Enjolras; what an Enjolras with a mistress would be like, and if his sister could handle his unyielding devotion to his many causes. _

_But Aurelie was stronger than Benoit in many ways. She had always been clever, more intelligent than he could dream to be. She was wise beyond her years and witty to boot. She understood people and accepted them for who they were, not who she wanted them to be. And for this, it was Enjolras who should beg for her._

_"Perhaps you could take her to Saint Genevieve before supper?" Benoit suggested, his mind made up. It was not his decision to make on where to steer them, and perhaps once alone without the purpose of selling and buying, they could figure themselves out as well, since neither seemed to know what to do._

_"Are you tired?" Enjolras asked his friend, not wanting to appear eager. "You could take her."_

_Benoit shook his head a few times as he grinned. "I believe Grantaire may need money for his wine tonight after what I took from him. I'll be off to find him for a deal."_

_Aurelie's heart raced, and she bid her brother farewell once her suitcase had been swept up by him. Told him she'd meet him at the Café in an hour. And then she was alone with Enjolras, save for the many who lived on the street. _

_Never in her life had she felt this way for any man, and she was not herself. Her girlfriends had swooned over her suitors while she found herself bored. In this state of love, she did not know herself._

_Everyone they walked by seemed honored to be in his presence, or maybe that was just Aurelie assigning her own emotions on those they passed. But he nodded at those he walked by as they'd offer him a smile. It was nice to be out for a leisurely walk rather than aided in destinations, and their pace was slower than before. This was casual, and still her feet would not meet the pavement._

_At the church grounds, she stared up at the spires in awe, marveling over how a man could create a structure such as this. Aurelie waited for him to explain the architecture, but when he didn't after a minute, she looked over at him to see his eyes on her rather than the cathedral. _

_"I have been loving you a little more since this morning," he said to her, bewildered and lost. It didn't even surprise him that he'd said this aloud, a testament to the overwhelming truth of it. It had been the first thing he'd said in the last minute as he'd looked upon her while she gazed at the heavens. And the first thing that had entered his head when she met his eyes. _

_Aurelie gently smiled, as though this had been expected. She did not feel abashed or embarrassed or frightened. Boys had sworn their love to her before, and one man in particular had been arranged in an agreement of marriage when she was younger. She had cared for none, only done her duty as a lady to remain cordial and proper._

_This time was quite different. She felt as if this could go no other way than it had. Her heart danced over these words, but her head said that this was home. _

_"I believe I have, as well," she said without hesitation. _

_Enjolras imperceptibly shook his head. "It wasn't until I saw you that I thought myself capable of love," he said. "And now I know I have loved you since the day I was born."_

_She did not leave his eyes. This was no game, this was a proclamation. "You were felt when I arrived yesterday," she told him, tilting her head to the side in wonder. "As we drew close, I knew I was home. You were seen entering the café by me out my window: your red jacket and gold crown. But it was when you met my eyes that I understood why these things had been noted. Impossibly, I am very much in love with you, Monsieur, and I don't foresee a time when that is not so."_

_Glancing down with purpose only, Enjolras took her hand in his. "How can it have only been a day? Can we fall so in love so fast?"_

_"I don't believe we get a say in that at all," Aurelie told him. The hand that held hers held her heart, and from this moment on she would devote it wholly to him. "Honestly, if we had any say I would have slapped your face last night." _

_Enjolras laughed: knew this to be true, as were he able to control his love, he would have put a stop to it the second he'd found himself wanting. "I've never believed it until now, but you have made me a believer, Aurelie. And in only one day of knowing you, I can make the promise now without any doubt that I will love you until my last breath, and that breath will be taken with your name on my lips."_

What Aurelie did not know as she replayed their first twenty-four hours was that right now, at the barricade, as she recalled every detail, Enjolras sat on the chair remembering the same, and each recollection occurred in sync with hers.

"I have been loving him a little more since this morning," she whispered to Marius, repeating the words Enjolras had spoken in front of the monastery. "Impossibly, I have loved him a little more every day since my eyes first rested in his."


	12. Book Twelve: Between the Beginning

Marius' Guardian Angel

"Don't shoot!" Aurelie heard the urgent whisper from beyond the barricade, and Marius rose like a burst of lightening to join Enjolras, who had leapt up and aimed his rifle over the crest.

Marius flanked him then, with Courfeyrac and Bahorel, guns at the ready.

"I am here to volunteer!" the whisper continued.

Aurelie rose and padded toward the corner of the barricade, able to see through slats of a bedframe. A soldier held his hat to his breast, his gun aimed at the sky by his side. He was a strong man with a wide frame of muscle, hair dark and cut with a style of the wealthy.

Enjolras turned to Fueilly, nodded for him to pull aside a fruit cart. Fueilly narrowed his eyes at Enjolras, but did his bidding.

The second the soldier was inside, guns were aimed at his head while Fueilly replaced the cart, blocking any escape. Enjolras took the soldier's gun from him while Bossuet pointed to the café.

"You see that man in there?" he asked, and all eyes turned to the beaten and haggard Javert with the noose around his neck.

"A government spy," Fueilly said, cocking his gun and bringing the barrel ever closer to the man's head.

The man, who held his hands up near his face, appeared frightened yet determined. Aurelie noted both and could not fathom why this man had come here in this late hour. His features were kind, however brutish his muscled frame was. No alarms rang as she looked him over; this man appeared as though he truly wanted to be here. Her concern was present, though only that they'd fire upon him without any facts.

Courfeyrac grabbed the man and pushed him toward the café. "Get in there! Get inside!"

It was little Gavroche who stopped this, climbing from his trunk and rushing over. "No! He's not one of them, he's one of us!"

Trust the little ones, Gavroche had said. Meanwhile, don't trust the big ones. Aurelie kept her focus on Gavroche's wide eyes, studying him. She trusted him more than anyone, as children cannot lie without any sort of tell. She could see clearly that Gavroche not only trusted this man, he liked him.

But she was rattled a moment later as the man hunkered down, his eyes up to the sky. He yelled, "Enemy marksman, on the roof!"

The gun he'd carried was snatched from Enjolras and aimed to the rooftop.

Fired.

Missed.

Purposefully.

The bullet had struck a helmet that had toppled to the street below. Aurelie didn't know why she felt the shot had been purposefully missed, but somehow instinct told her it was so. And this shot was enough to scare the cowards on the roofs back into hiding.

"Where are they?" Enjolras cried, scanning the sky.

It was noticed then that there were others who had stealthily made the climb to the rooftops, and these marksmen were fired upon by all as they tried to escape after their game was up, tumbling to the ground the way a duck would fall from the clouds in hunting season. After a minute or two of gunfire, there was no one left above.

"We'll watch the left," Fueilly said, reloading his musket with his eyes scanning the skyline.

Marius elbowed a man, cocked his head to the side, then said, "We have the right."

"Eyes forward," Enjolras ordered the rest, pointing at the barricade.

He turned to the man and shook his hand, out of breath. "Thank you, Monsieur."

The man nodded and handed the musket back to Enjolras, now unarmed. "You need not thank me, Monsieur," he said, but his gaze travelled to the café. "But if you feel a gesture necessary, there is something you can do for me."

Owing at least one life to this stranger, Enjolras nodded firmly. "I'll do what I can."

"That spy in there," the man said, pointing with his hand toward the café. This gesture sent Enjolras into a state of pity that went noticed by Aurelie, but studying them both, she did not know why. She could read Enjolras in a way no one could; he was an emotional enigma to everyone who surrounded him. And this man pointing at Javert had earned Enjolras' compassion.

"What of him?"

"I know that man," he told Enjolras. "I can take care of him for you."

It was Gavroche who was turned to, and Enjolras received a nod from the little boy who went so far as to offer his own pistol for the man to take. Before he moved toward the gun, however, the man waited for a confirmation from Enjolras.

Head still tucked down at Gavroche, Enjolras eyed the man through his brows. There was a pause before Aurelie saw him finally nod his consent. Biting her lip in deep thought, Aurelie noticed how the man reverently took the pistol, every motion slow, as if to assure Enjolras that he would not fire upon him.

Though Aurelie could tell he wouldn't. Whatever had rocked Enjolras when this man had pointed had confirmed her intuition that this man was not just amiable, he was benign. Though his skin was thick and tough, despite his size and muscles, he had a gentle soul, which juxtaposed him in a confounding way that he wished to take care of Javert.

"The man is yours," Enjolras told him, then walked him to the door.

Fueilly, who had been listening while watching the rooftops, whistled to get Enjolras' attention. "Enjolras," he hissed, then shook his head. "No."

Having clearly heard this and ignoring it, Enjolras gestured with his head to the man that he was allowed entry. Still Fueilly protested, his disapproval fiercer.

"Don't allow this!" Fueilly said, lowering his gun and taking Enjolras a step away with a hand on his bicep.

Shrugging his shoulder to free himself, Enjolras closed the doors to the café so no one would have to witness this; they'd see enough death, just as they'd already had.

"Enjolras, why?" Fueilly asked.

Enjolras raised his brows. "The man saved our lives," he said, then inhaled deeply. "He is not one of them. His wrists held the scars of slavery. He wore the jacket and hat, but they were buttoned incorrectly. He likely took them from a body to slip by the National Guard unnoticed to come here."

"And what of Javert?" Courfeyrac demanded, having joined the conversation and agreeing with Fueilly's protests.

"I know not what he wants of him," Enjolras said. "But it seems he has more of a vendetta than we do. Javert has ruined enough lives. I'd prefer he die by the hands of a man he'd ruined."

Aurelie turned her gaze through the window once more. She saw the man release the noose, not the wrists, as Javert said, "You've hungered for this all your life," and she knew with absolution that the man had spoken true. Enjolras' evaluation had been accurate.

But she did not want to see the result and turned away, slipping back into the shadows.

Guns were still aimed at the roofs, guns aimed from the barricade. Enjolras stood, talking quietly to Marius in the center of the square, and Aurelie relaxed for now.

Minutes later, a shot rang out from the Café. Many eyes turned toward the door expectantly. Another minute and the Monsieur had walked out with a gun in hand. His eyes were instantly on Enjolras, who had scaled the barricade with his musket aimed down the street, and he nodded that he'd finished his task. Keeping his eyes on Enjolras, he held the gun out to Fueilly, but had earned trust here. Fueilly, despite his hesitations, pushed it back with a nod of apology, allowing him to keep the pistol.

This was when the man told Enjolras that the other barricades had been emptied and Paris had gone to sleep.

The Realization of Imminent Death

In this late hour, everyone became weary with the lull in action. It is easy to forget a need for sleep when life keeps you moving; it's the hiatus between that reminds a body of its necessities.

We describe the barricade here, as it had undergone some necessary changes. While it had served its purpose to the best of its ability, the guardsmen were still able to scale the opposite side. Work was done to raise it another three meters to the windowsills of the second floor, along with additional labor on the opposite side to steepen the angle. Enjolras and his lieutenants had been spending time jumping from piece to piece, shaking furnishings, testing the stability.

Everyone knew it was Marius who had saved them, and in them they'd found a priest. His bravery with the keg had garnered adoration, quite similar to the pedestal Enjolras had been put upon for years.

Understanding now the force to be reckoned with that is the National Guard, Enjolras had revised and improved his vision of not only the barricade, but the contents. He had the men, he had the munitions, he had every backup plan in place. And he spent time walking through every inch of their redoubt to be sure nothing had gone amiss.

When he'd finished, he walked over to the barricade to ask Courfeyrac and Fueilly to take the watch and ordered everyone to take advantage of this abeyance to rest. A shift schedule was worked out in two hour intervals so anyone who could sleep would have an opportunity to.

He knew however that though he may close his eyes, sleep would be unobtainable.

We explain Enjolras this night with a preface: Enjolras knew wholly what he was getting himself into from the first moment a new revolution was a spark in his brain. Enjolras had painted a clear picture of every move, every action, every response. He was prepared to die for his beliefs, knew he likely would. He had even expected Aurelie to stand by his side despite any protest he gave, as the day he had met her she had been frighteningly adamant in her beliefs, rivalling any man he had chosen to surround himself with. While he had fallen in love with her instantaneously, he respected her ability to challenge men above all. Indeed, this war had been perfectly planned, from timing to persons to placement. Enjolras had been prepared for all scenarios.

All but one.

An internal war. A war he'd never thought possible, as he had not once questioned anything he believed in. He had not questioned a revolution, he had not questioned the ideals espoused. Even as a child he had never questioned anything he wanted and, in working to obtain them, he was satisfied. Even as a man in love, there had been no questions posed. He had impossibly felt it, accepted it, prepared himself to strive for its return.

An internal war was now raging inside of him that was more vicious than the barricade, and it was due to the one scenario he could have never predicted. He'd predicted Aurelie's unyielding dedication and that he'd be unable to force her away. He had not predicted the toll this would take on him.

He'd thought he would accept her presence because it was inevitable. This was not the case, and the stress of this had been surmounted by their unborn child. They had both been in situations that had the potential for danger and had thought nothing of it; separated in these cases often enough that they trusted the other's ability to fend for themselves. They had both bark and bite.

He knew this still.

Yes, the internal war would have erupted without her, as he had now executed a man, albeit a murderer. He had now seen a woman place herself in front of a bullet for a man she loved. He now recognized the magnitude of the cost of war, knowing these dauntless men would die.

But Aurelie was the flashpoint of this internal war, and she had every right to it. It had been earned and was without a doubt echoing in her. These echoes compounded upon each other, as knowing her struggle only magnified his war. He admired her strength more than ever, as much as he despised the risk she was taking. Her insistence upon staying was horrifying and yet it impossibly made him love her even more

And he had not predicted the crossroad this left him at.

Behind a staircase he leaned, enervated by his inner torrent of thought and how he felt he no longer knew himself.

Everything changes. Everything happens.

Tapping the keys on the piano, Combeferre began to sing a melancholy song of love. He was joined by a voice, then another.

Aurelie sang along quietly as she took in everyone.

Oh, how tired they all were.

Enjolras leaned against the back of the stairs as to not be seen. She was within arm's reach of him, but kept her head low because she was in the light of the torches. He sang along without his voice reaching any ears, but she could hear it through his silence. She could hear his soul, always. He was deeply troubled and hiding his weak moment from the rest.

And she made a decision she knew was wrong, but could not help herself. He would not be angry with her; they were no longer in a place to be angry. In these hours before death, there was only love left.

She needed more than anything to take the burden from his shoulders, if only to lift it for a few minutes so he could once against shoulder it with strength.

Rising, Aurelie slowly removed her cap and let it fall to her feet without a thought paid. A second later, she stood directly in front of him, though he hadn't noticed, his eyes still cast in the distance.

Enjolras felt a hand touch his cheek, which would have shaken him if he didn't know whose hand it was. But without looking, he'd known it was hers. He could feel her, always.

Aurelie turned his head to her, all done gently and with great care, and he met her eyes. Neither could smile; they surrendered to this without a word. He felt her hand drift down and rest on his heart, brought his own up to cover it. A weight was lifting through her touch as they sang quietly, though with her in front of him, his burden should have magnified ten-fold.

With his other hand, he reached for her and slowly pulled her against his chest, still covering her hand on his heart.

Aurelie leaned against her pillar of strength, her cheek lightly pressed against the linen of his white shirt. But she did not steal his strength, only his burden. It permeated every fiber of her being. Head, heart and soul. And taking it from him, she understood everything. She realized just how heavy it was.

She began to weep.

Closing her eyes and willing him to give her the rest so he could leave it behind, she felt his weak hold around her, though he was keeping her pressed against his entire frame. They used no muscle; he was no pillar now. The only pillar was the one of the stairs he leaned against. Instead, they were magnets that would take awesome strength to separate.

Having her body against him now was all he needed in this world. He was giving up, at least for a few minutes, and allowing her to be the center of his universe. They were no longer at the barricade, they were in heaven, vulnerable and intimate at once. While he hated that she was still here, he hadn't once stopped feeling her presence, and to have her against him now was very much needed. In that, he was glad she had not disappeared.

"Life without you would have meant nothing," he said while gently shutting his lids, allowing himself to think only of her. He knew she was weeping against him. She was tired, as was he. Rubbing his hand up the curve of her spine, he met her hair and wove his fingers through it. Inhaled her scent. "Thank you, Aurelie. Thank you for staying."

"You knew I would not leave you," Aurelie said, the tears freely streaming down her cheeks. But she kept her voice even in hopes he wouldn't know. "Do not worry for me, my love. I will live through this. Let me take your burden now."

His heart ached as he leaned his head back against the wood, staring up at the sky. A silent prayer was said through only the movement of his mouth, and if Aurelie could have heard, she would have heard this:

"Dear God, keep her safe. Do what I cannot and defend her through this. Take my life, but do not take hers. I beg of you, save my love."

And with this, a single tear escaped his eye.

Their song did not last long enough, and when it had finished, Aurelie sniffled so when she looked at him, he would not see the mess she was in.

But he knew.

"Dry your tears on my chest, my love," she heard him whisper, gently soothing her with his hand through her hair. "You have borrowed my burden. Let me take it back and wear the proof of it."

She let out a tiny sob and did as she'd been told. Never in her life had she cried like a little girl, not even in childhood. She'd fallen from trees, she'd received lectures and scoldings, she'd lost her mother and father. But here she sobbed uncontrollably, however silently.

Turning her face to his chest, she clutched the lapels of his jacket, her face buried against him. She wished the sobs would stop, but they flooded from her without end.

Enjolras held her with every ounce of love in him, sending her his love as his burden returned, cradling her head the way one would a fragile child with his arm around her back. The post kept them upright and he bit his lip fiercely so he would not join her tears. The lump in his throat left him unable to swallow and he did not know how he was still able to breathe in this state of desperation.

Still, he held her until she pulled away. He took in her red eyes, the circles beneath them. Cradling her face, he wiped the rest of the moisture from her cheeks with his thumbs. He opened his mouth, but no sound came.

So he closed it. No words could be said now. If he spoke them, they would never end. He could speak to her of his love through this life and the next. Still they would flow forever.

Aurelie's eyes darted between his, her chin trembling. But she nodded at him, accepting that neither of them would have words for this. No words had ever been created to cover the gravity of this. So she backed away, and he closed his eyes as he turned from her and slowly walked back to the barricade.

When he'd sat down, she huddled into a ball and buried her face in her trousers. She did not believe her tears would stop; hadn't expected they'd fall at all unless he fell. She'd sworn to be strong, but for a few minutes, they were both able to leave this world, and in that world, she'd been allowed to cry.

Enjolras told the others to take two hours of sleep, no more, then laid at a lean on the barricade. "Forgive me, Aurelie," he said to himself, to the ears of God.

One can believe themselves right until they're wrong, and they both had been gravely mistaken in all things.

All things but their unyielding, implacable, unexplainable, unbounded and unequivocal love.

Aurelie cried herself to sleep against the post.

Hypocrisy in its Ultimate Form

_Everyone's situation, at that fatal hour and in that inexorable place, found its ultimate expression and pinnacle in the supreme melancholy of Enjolras._

Many notions struck those at the barricade in the strangest way upon waking up with dawn. Oddly, they brightened the atmosphere, if not leaving it in a bit of a haze of absinth without the absinth.

"I'm glad they put out the torch," Courfeyrac said. "That torch would be startled by the wind and I was sick of looking at it. It appeared frightened, which is why the light of a torch is like the wisdom of a coward; it's too busy trembling to shed light."

While peeking over the barricade, Joly saw a cat run from the butcher shop and around the corner.

"What is a cat?" he cried out. "It is a rectification. The good lord; having created the mouse, said: 'Oh dear, I've made a boo boo.' And thus the cat was created. The cat is the erratum of the mouse. The mouse plus the cat equals the revised and corrected proofs of creation."

Combeferre exited the café with Enjolras after having tended to the wounded in the kitchen, and when Enjolras skulked to the barricade, Combeferre spoke of the dead to those who surrounded him, and out of Enjolras' earshot, added in Enjolras' stern sadness. He rattled off some characters of history, then continued: "All of them had their moment of anguish after the blow they struck. Our hearts are too shaky and human life is such a mystery that, even in a public-spirited murder, even in a liberating murder, if there is such a thing, remorse at having struck a man down exceeds joy at having served the human race."

This was, of course, in reference of the execution, and the following speech where Enjolras had sentenced himself to die for the sin. Since then he'd remained in a film of sadness, however thin it was. He was marching on because he must, but there had been a noticeable change in Enjolras, noticed by all after he'd shot the man.

Perhaps it was best that they now saw him as human; a man whom had reactions to actions made instead of a statue that could not even shrug. Even Atlas shouldering the globe must wince at times over the ultimate weight of the world on his back. There was no respect lost; Enjolras had done what few men could do yet would still insist upon. The question for those on the outside is this: Would the respect have been lost had Enjolras shown his human side as a man in love? Or was love only in strength and duty worthy of maintaining respect, if not enhancing it?

To Enjolras, it was weakness versus sin, and he was presently aware of both.

At this point, he walked by the sleeping beauty against her pillar, who had not stirred at this violet of dawn as the sun was minutes away from rising. Through the shadows he snuck, climbing to rooftops to get a view of Paris asleep. Upon an abandoned building he could overhear a pack of national guardsmen speaking of their victories and sharing individual experiences. They had triumphed and were congratulating one another when a sergeant joined them, where they began to discuss their plans in regards to their only failure.

Enjolras hurried back to the barricade.

He stood atop and called:

"The army and national guard will bear down upon us once more in the coming hours. Not one barricade is left standing, and as for our friends—as for the citizens of Paris—yesterday the kettle was singing, this morning the fire has expired and the water is cold. We have been abandoned. Nothing to hope for, the world will continue on as though nothing has happened."

If this shocked anyone, he did not want to see it, and put his eyes down with the intent of making his way from piece to piece until his shoes hit the pavement. Complete silence was all around him.

There, he looked up so anyone who'd had their moment of shock would have rallied.

It was Courfeyrac he looked at first, the most staunch of the lot, who nodded and stalwartly declared: "So be it. The people may have abandoned the republicans but the republicans will not abandon the people, so here we give our last stand and offer the protest of our blood. Everyone here had volunteered it freely, and so it will be to our last breath. Together we stand and together we die."

This incited the men, who began their cheers and chants, the very same we have heard at every rally up until this point.

Enjolras nodded humbly at these men, overcome by their bravery and imminent sacrifice for what their enduring beliefs. But it was one voice that sobered him, a voice that created a halt for Enjolras.

One man had shouted: "Let's all stay here!" and Enjolras' head whipped toward the man which silenced the rest.

"Why all?" he posed, then pursed his lips to the side thoughtfully.

This was not because he was about to leave. This was not about being a different man in a different world who could have been free to love his wife and child. This was not an insinuation of his own desertion, though he knew clearly that he should. Honor and duty had torn at his soul for twenty-four hours and two years, two very opposite directions; one path to life, one path to death. His necessity to honor the republic, his duty to Aurelie and their son.

He had sentenced himself to death, but he could not sentence these men.

But the man cried "All" in the way one begins a chant, and the other joined him:

"All! All! All!"

Enjolras pointed widely at the barricade behind him. "Our position is strong and our barricade is beautiful. Thirty men are enough, why sacrifice forty?"

Bossuet, casually leaning against the café, held a palm up in a shrug. "Because not one man here wishes to leave," he said with a sarcastic grin that read: _you dare ask?_

"Citizens," Enjolras said, and there was a bit of anger laced into it that made his voice impossibly stronger. "The republic is not rich enough in men to incur unnecessary costs. Vainglory is squandering. If, for some of you, getting away from here is a duty, then the duty should be performed like any other."

In saying this, he was a hypocrite. He had a duty to leave, more of a reason than many. He had a child coming. But the general—the born leader to his fingertips—would not desert the men ready to die. This did not mean he was not disgusted by himself, however. His obligations were off, and he was very wrong. But only he could know it.

"Let those who are afraid of there only being thirty say so now."

Some muttering intensified as those around him dared those beside their person to leave.

"It matters not," Bossuet said. "Getting away as an insurgent is easier said than done. The barricade is surrounded."

Enjolras nodded once, reminded himself to vehemently remind Aurelie of her promise to leave. A woman could walk by, but Bossuet was right: any man seen fleeing would be shot dead on the spot.

"Not on the Les Halles side," he said, pondering aloud, then began to path out a route, which still ended at an army.

This was noticed.

"And there, you'll be caught," Bossuet said, still needling. He laughed through a roll of his eyes. "You'll meet some great guard in your smock and cap who will say, 'Hey you, where've you come from? You wouldn't be from the barricade by any chance, would you?' Then they look at your hands. You reek of gunpowder. The jig's up. You're shot."

Enjolras crossed over to Combeferre and whispered in his ear. They entered the café, leaving the crowd questioning their actions.

In the kitchen, Enjolras and Combeferre worked off the clothes of the dead guardsmen who had perished overnight and returned with balls of uniforms.

Dropping them onto the pavement, Enjolras pointed firmly downward and stated, "With this uniform, you'll blend. There's enough for four."

Combeferre's emotions had always swayed a bit to the left, him holding a greater heart for people's weaknesses, which had driven him into medicine. "Listen," he said softly. "Show a little pity. Do you know what's at stake here? The women."

Enjolras' heart skipped a beat. He would not falter, he would not leave; even his heart knew that. But his heart knowing he should have for a second in time was enough.

Continuing, Combeferre asked, "Do any of you have wives? Yes, no?"

Yes, Enjolras thought.

"Children?"

Enjolras swallowed heavily.

_Yes._

"Do any of you have mothers rocking cradles with their feet and little ones around them that you serve as big brother to?"

Still no one answered.

"So you want to get yourself killed," he said, pursing his lips to the side. "Well, aye, I do, too. I who am talking to you, but I don't want to feel the phantoms of women wringing their hands around my corpse."

Enjolras took over the reins, showing a softer side, able to relate to this entirely even if no one knew it.

"Suicides like the ones about to be committed here are sublime, but suicide is limited. It won't tolerate being extended—" Oh, how sick he felt as these words left his mouth. "—The moment suicide hits your nearest and dearest, it is murder."

He didn't mean to, but he turned, face whitened. Turned so no one would see him blench over his own words, and aimed his eyes at sleeping Aurelie. He was glad she was not hearing this. And he hated himself very much for having put her through it all.

"Think of those little blond heads . . ."

Enjolras' eyes began to prick over Combeferre's gentle words.

Their son would have golden curls.

He was leaving a widow and child behind.

He damned himself once more.

"Just a minute ago, Enjolras—"

He caught Combeferre saying his name and forced himself back to the barricade, the prison he'd created.

"—told me he had seen a woman up in a fifth floor window, alone with a child. Her candle was lit and she watched over the streets. This was one of your wives, or your mother. She was watching for your return home. She needs your support or she will end up on the street with no money; she needs your labor and the comfort of your love. You get yourself killed, and fine, you're dead, but what of tomorrow? You'll not know how those you've left behind suffer."

This was the sad truth of war, a truth Enjolras had not taken into account once while speaking to the people and riling them up. Of course he'd never known of the child, but he had loved Aurelie. There's no telling if it was the romantic in both of them that had led them to the barricade, believing they'd wake up to a new day where they would be free to love, the world no longer cruel and without sin.

It is easy to die, easy for those dead because they do not see the result of their death on those who love them. Their mothers weep, their lovers sob, their children fail to understand. Yet we treat a deserter like a criminal. He who has decided to abide to his duty to those who need him is punished, be it at the hands of the ranks they served or their peers. Sometimes at the hands of the very same they'd returned to protect.

We are left with the question of Aurelie and Enjolras. Did they expect to fight this war side by side? Undoubtedly. They would have died hand in hand; Romulus and Remus, Cleopatra and Mark Antony, Romeo and Juliet. While neither would have allowed the other the right to die first, while it would have been a shoving match to place themselves before the other in front of a gun, they would go together.

But with a child, neither had the right to a suicide. It was murder. But they were not alone. No one has no one; every child is born from a mother, born to a father. Even when all are dead around you, you are not alone. Someone knows, someone cares. Even as a walking dead, there will always be someone who takes pity upon those who have lost everything, and because of this, they are never alone.

"I repeat, we are talking about women here," Combeferre continued his tirade that had taken the better part of five minutes by now. "Are we talking about you here? We all know very well who you are; we know very well that every one of you are brave men, for Christ's sake! We know very well that your souls are full of joy and full of glory of giving your lives for the great cause; we know very well that you feel you have been handpicked to die usefully and magnificently and that each of you is clinging on to his part in the triumph. Well and good. But you are not alone; there are other beings you must think of. Do not be selfish."

_Ah, the strange contradictions of the human heart in its most sublime moments! Combeferre, who spoke thus, was not an orphan. He remembered the mothers of others but forgot his own. He was going to get himself killed. He was "selfish"._

Marius, whom had been undecided for so long, but submitted to his own death in the absence of Cosette, quickly waltzed over to stand beside Enjolras, shoulder to shoulder. "Enjolras is right," he said, and after his stunt with the gunpowder the night before, he was well received as their savior. "It is pointless to sacrifice everyone here."

He then eyed Enjolras sideways, though Enjolras didn't see it. But Marius was hoping Combeferre's words would sink in with his assistance and Aurelie would have her husband.

"Let those here who have families: wives and children, break ranks now," he continued with compassion, his words meant to convince Enjolras that he needed to take her by the hand and run from here. "I die here today because I have none, but if you do, you are to leave at once."

Still, no one moved, and Marius gently closed his eyes over his failure. His promise to Aurelie that he would protect Enjolras, and he would regret his lack of success until he died.

This made him angry.

"Those with families, those with a duty to a woman, step forward now!" he yelled, angling his body so Enjolras would understand that he was ordering _him_ and not the rest.

Enjolras' rage was boiling over; an emotion to cover what he really felt:

Guilt.

"I order you!" Enjolras screamed, pointing to the ground. As the leader of these men, this was not an order to be disobeyed. This order held his rage and sadness, his guilt and pity. His necessity to garner up the last of his strength, for if this hadn't been shouted through his reddening face, he might have rushed to Aurelie, bundled her in his arms, and made a run for it.

With Combeferre's eloquent speech, Enjolras' order, and Marius' prayer as the savior of the barricade, the men began to rat each other out.

"Hey," one young man said to a man in his mid-thirties. "You have three children. Go home to them."

The man replied: "And your parents died leaving you with two younger sisters in your sole care. You have more of a duty than I."

"And what of you?" another man said, pointing at a man three people away. "Your mother is ill. Who will take care of her?"

_All these men were now fighting not to be turned to death's door._

Enjolras swept both hands through his hair against his throbbing head. "Enough," he cried, his determination and frustration getting the better of him. He needed to push them out before he himself ran to Aurelie to carry her away. "Here at this barricade our republic begins. You will vote. Elect now who goes."

Marius took this opportunity to turn his head and whisper in Enjolras' ear: "I vote for you."

Mortified, Enjolras whipped his head to eye Marius levelly, his voice obscured by the many voices in council over who would leave.

"Do not insult me," Enjolras hissed. "I know the wrong I'm doing well enough, you're not to bring attention to it to me or anyone else when it was I who led them here."

Sad as it was, Marius understood and swallowed heavily. Though Enjolras had been elevated in the eyes of Marius now that he knew of Aurelie, he had not changed. But Marius solidified his promise to do all he could to save the man and could only pray God would spare him for the duty he had to Aurelie.

It took five minutes for thirty-seven men to come to a unanimous decision of who would leave, and in those five minutes, five men were selected.

"Four uniforms," Enjolras noted quietly, his chin pushed to the side while deep in thought.

"Then one of us will have to stay!" one of the five cried out, his chest barreled with bravado.

And the brawl broke out once more.

We call a happy accident serendipity, and it was at exactly the right moment that the man from last night, still dressed in the leather of a National Guard, walked into the barricade after spying on the army's moves. He had dressed down to his undergarments and had balled them into his arms.

Enjolras turned to the man.

"Citizen, welcome," he said. "You know we are all going to die."

The man, without answering, handed the leathers to the fifth man and helped him work them on.


	13. Book Thirteen: Triumphs and Failures

**BOOK THIRTEEN:**

**The Triumphs and Utter Failures of the Besiegers**

* * *

All Fun and Games

Waking to laughter was as disconcerting as waking to the shot of a cannon, and Aurelie knew not which she woke to first.

But she was startled with her eyes open at the sound of a cannonball striking the barricade. Instantly she was on her feet and peeked over the top near Bossuet. There was no army of men, just a few National Guards beside the cannon, a new hunk of metal placed inside.

The men around her seemed to care very little, and looking down at where the ball had hit, it had done nothing. A spoke of a wheel had broken and it was lodged behind, somewhere within the barricade, only having added to the structure, not having taken away.

For some reason, a reason that cannot be explained, she smiled.

Everyone around her watched, no one did anything upon realizing their efforts were futile. And they laughed and teased, in fact taunting the cannon rather than fearing it.

"I was waiting for thunder, not a cough, my friend!" Bossuet yelled over the top, aimed at the cannon, not the men.

"Seems to me that they're coming to our aid," Courfeyrac agreed. "Anything to strengthen this beauty is welcome!"

Over the next half hour, two more had struck the barricade, and the barricade laughed at the cannonballs, soaking them into its deep belly with little more than a hole of entrance. As one takes a large bite of bread, muscles work it down and the throat is then clear and ready for more. In this, the belly fills. In this, the barricade strengthens.

Enjolras, directly center and near the pinnacle of the barricade, rolled his eyes. "Enough of this nonsense," he said to the others. "Time to show them what this barricade really holds."

Shifting into their positions, all the men took aim.

"Fire!"

One shot from twenty men created a cloud of smoke, and once it had cleared, they had hit only one man, the rest having run off.

"Alas, but one," Bossuet said. "Perhaps you'll rethink yelling your orders as to not warn them next time, Enjolras?"

He gave a sneer, but shrugged off the comment.

Now ducked behind the barricade once more, Aurelie remained off to the side and behind the stairs, peeking over the very furthest corner in the shadow of the awning. She watched the men hurry back to the cannon, push it closer, aim with their new position, and she wished she had a pistol to shoot the gunner captain as he lit the fuse.

A puff of smoke, a roar of great power, the fourth ball striking the center of the barricade. The barricade swallowed this one as well with ease, as if bored with the display.

"Oh, bravo cannoneers!" Bossuet yelled, and everyone at the barricade began to clap with fancy the way one would at the final note of an aria.

Aurelie was both amused and appalled.

This was the last that fired from this smaller piece of artillery. They had given up this tactic, and once more the street was still.

Taking this pause in action, Aurelie moved back to the pillar to watch Enjolras, almost directly under Bossuet. She supposed he would have woke her at a real threat and ordered her away, and was glad that he'd seceded to her demands that they wait until the last minute.

Enjolras, atop the barricade, was aware Aurelie was awake now, but was not in a position to run off to find her. Though there was a lull in action just now, he knew it would take a death to put him in motion to force her away, as it would be the only way she would listen. Once she'd seen a death now that all was lost, she would finally realize it was her time, he knew this. With one death, she would not fight him. One death would mean it could have been her, and it would be that sign that would push him over an edge he had long teetered upon.

Long jumped over, if he was being honest. Over and over and over again, his beaten heart hitting the rocks below.

Another cannon, this one longer and larger, was rolled into place, and this was the one to be taken seriously. Bossuet laughed raucously when Courfeyrac cried out: "Here's something new!"

With a smile of mad glee, Bossuet peeked over the top of the barricade, amplifying his laughter. He stepped down to stand fully on the pavement, hidden by the many meters of height, and announced to all with his thumbs at his armpits: "I'm known as eight-pounder!"

Not knowing what to make of it all, Aurelie had to see for herself. Surreptitiously sneaking under the stairs once more, she was able to climb a lower point of the barricade out of sight. There was indeed a higher presence, she noticed this time around. Gunners were obscuring themselves at corners, and a few guardsmen had perished before she'd woke at the far end of the street. It surprised her the gunfire that had killed these men earlier in the morning had not pulled her from her deep slumber.

Indeed, a new character had just entered the stage. A second piece of ordnance was pushed on wheels to the center of the street. And seeing how the many men had to push it into place, she knew this was the beginning of the end.

"It is my prediction that this is to be taken more seriously," Aurelie heard Enjolras call. She saw the lead pushed into the barrel of the cannon, which sent Enjolras into more of a frenzy as he yelled: "On your knees at the base, everyone!"

Finally ready to listen to any command Enjolras gave with how grave their situation had become, she was just waiting for him to appear and tell her to run. So this order went not only followed, but exceeded upon as Aurelie rushed twenty meters away and pressed her back against the wall of the café.

It was the wrong place to be. Two meters closer and she would have been dead.

This leaded ball struck the top of their fortress, the café shuddering against her back, and fell from the sky onto two men below. They crumpled to the ground, bodies disfigured in their death from the heavy object.

This had been done on purpose. They'd finally figured out their lead balls did nothing to the barricade, but they could destroy the walls behind. Enjolras could feel Aurelie, always, but the horror of what he'd just seen made him oblivious that she had been so close, just around the corner.

The most he could say was, "That will not happen twice," and it was said through his teeth in a rage. He then scaled to the top and lowered his carbine, its barrel aimed directly at the gunner sergeant himself.

Combeferre, who had scaled behind him, said: "What a shame. Enjolras, you are aiming at that man, but you aren't looking at him. He's dashing, fearless, and a thinker. Those who operate cannons must be to achieve their proper angle. He has a father, a mother—he's probably in love. He could be your brother."

How right Combeferre was. Enjolras was looking at his twin: blond hair, around twenty-five at most, angelic features, well educated, and without a doubt in deep love with a woman. He knew what that looked like, as he'd seen it so often in the mirror.

"He is my brother."

"Yes, and mine, too. Let's not kill him."

"Leave me alone," Enjolras said, his chin jutting forward. "We do what we have to."

One tear left his eye before he squeezed the trigger. The man spun in circles as if he was being repeatedly punched before he crumpled to the ground, and Enjolras realized just how well liked their gunner sergeant was upon seeing how his men rushed to his body. Their war ceased and they tended to him, found him dead, then reverently carried his body from the scene.

Having a stark realization herself as she looked over the two men dead at the door of the café, Aurelie finally accepted that her safety was in severe jeopardy. Still, it would take an order for her to leave. She had promised herself that she would see his last breath, and it had not come yet. But this was a hollow promise, and one she would have to regret for the rest of her life to ensure the safety of their child.

But she would not leave without her last words, so she rushed to the safety of the barricade once more. He'd see her there and tell her to go. He'd be able to take nothing more than a brief minute in the shadows to say his goodbyes this way, no one ever having known she was there and what he was sacrificing.

No, she would not leave without a kiss.

The unfortunate accident of timing, however, had once again been out of sync between the two. As Aurelie reached the staircase and sat behind the pillar, Enjolras had just turned away and was staring into the nether with watered eyes, his pain so deep within that he thought he'd burst from its mass.

At least she was safe.

This soothed the fact that she had left without a goodbye; that she'd recognized the timing and had made her run. He knew God would deliver her to safety; she was a woman—albeit in the clothes of men. She would have taken her cap off and let her hair down. She would have been smart enough to take a moment to change into women's clothing. There was no doubt in his mind that she would live, and this was secured by the fact that he could still feel her, as he always could.

Always.

Time had been purchased with the assassination of the gunner sergeant, but time was still running short. And a new cannon, this one shorter for grapeshot, rolled into the street ahead.

"We'll see how well this fares," Enjolras said to Courfeyrac, keeping his gun aimed and ready. They could not fire at every man; more would replace the fallen the next minute. The most they could do was hope this would be another futile attempt by the army until they'd finally have to throw their bodies at the barricade instead of the cowardly lead.

"With grapeshot, I'll take an educated guess that this is the beginning of the end of us," Courfeyrac said grimly, taking to the left side of Enjolras with his gun aimed.

"In position!" Enjolras yelled over his shoulder, and Marius took up his right.

Aurelie no longer watched the street, she kept her eyes on Enjolras. Once she'd met them, he'd have no choice but to run to her now. She remembered Eponine telling her she was a distraction, and in this moment, there was no doubt of it. He would have to leave his post, but there were twenty-seven other men able to fire: one would not be missed for only a minute of time.

She heard the shot, though did not cover her ears. She only closed her lids and let it penetrate her lax muscles. Once her eyes opened, grapeshot had scattered midair and she ducked, debris from the many parcels striking the barricade in all places.

"We absolutely must do something about those guns!" she heard Enjolras say, and her eyes swiftly located him, always drawn to the focal point of her world. He was wide awake now with this threat and in full form: the Enjolras who spoke at rallies with wide eyes and strength. Determination. "Open fire on the gunners!"

The barricade that had remained silent into the morning was ready, and they opened fire with all their force, all Enjolras' men scaling the furniture and cobblestones with rifles and carbines. Squints of eyes, careful aim, triggers pulled, report rising into the dust cloud.

Oddly enough, Aurelie did not feel the fear, though knew it was present deep within. Oddly enough, she thought: _At least something is happening. This is where it begins, and this is where it will end. _

When the gunfire ceased for a minute, Bossuet turned to Enjolras with a wide grin. "This is working well," he said, reloading his rifle. "Success!"

Shaking his head and looking over their munitions, Enjolras replied, "Another fifteen minutes of such success and there won't be ten cartridges left in the barricades."

* * *

The Bravery and Bravado of a Child

It's the little people who see things clearly, and Gavroche had overheard this remark, coming to a precipitated conclusion that he, as a little man, would have the easier time of climbing through the dust unseen.

Aurelie studied him, her attention curiously drawn to the little monsignor. His mouth had slid into a toothy grin as he dashed inside the café, then exited moments later with a bottle carrier. She was able to put the pieces together by instinct.

As he reached her, she snagged his arm. "Gavroche, you cannot," she hissed, her grip tight as could be.

He shrugged from her and began moving the makeshift doorway to the side. It was taking some muscle on his part, not as strong as the men who had moved it previously, and she once again yanked him back.

"Little people know how to fight, too," Gavroche said.

Aurelie grabbed hold of his waist and pulled. "I will drag you to him," she insisted.

"You won't," he replied, able to writhe his way from her grip. He pushed her back, but she again dove for him. "Like you, I too can be a man."

Aurelie gaped for a moment as she recognized the parallel drawn. Once more, Gavroche had a point well made, and in this momentary pause, he slid from her and wriggled his way through the door before she could gain purchase once again.

Terrified, time stopped for Aurelie as she thought through her next action. There were only two to be considered: run after the little man and drag him back, subjecting herself to the potential of death, or running for Enjolras.

These two actions were debated back and forth for what seemed like minutes. She only knew she could not stay here.

And her decision was made when only seconds had gone by.

Gripping her cap with one hand, another sweeping up a musket, she made a run for the top of the barricade, scaling it with ease as though flying like a bird toward the sky. She planted herself atop its crest beside Enjolras and aimed her gun down the street at the guardsmen beside the cannon who had just finished loading another parcel of grapeshot.

Enjolras felt a shoulder against his and turned. There was a double take as his eyes widened in consternation. In a flash of time, he noted how livid he was that she was beside him, but there was more.

Adoration and respect, which was just as horrifying as his fear and anger. In this flash, he stared at the woman he loved aiming a musket between the slats of a bed down the street. She did not meet his eyes, and he thought to himself how every time he saw her, she was born to be exactly as she was. Born to love, born to have empathy and compassion, born with knowledge, born to learn, born to debate, born with strength, born to strengthen him, born to carry his child.

Born to be beside him.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Right now, she was born to hold a gun.

Not batting an eye, instead keeping one squinted to aim properly, Aurelie whispered: "I am protecting a child."

Enjolras gaped at her for a moment before clutching her arm and responding: "How you can think this is protecting our child is beyond—"

"Not ours," Aurelie interrupted him in a hiss so quick and quiet that the words were hardly distinguishable. "That child."

At this, she lifted her chin toward little Gavroche, and Enjolras followed this movement to find Gavroche sneaking through the dust just as the cannon fired grapeshot.

Wrapping his arm around her, he forced her head down so it was covered with his chest to protect her from any parcel that may fall upon them. Aurelie curled further into him for this shot until she heard the dust settle, all lead having fallen from the sky.

She briefly noted that this was how it was supposed to be: her beside Enjolras at the top of the barricade as they not only protected others, they protected each other. A unified front. Her cheek against the linen of his shirt, a musket against her right shoulder.

Then she was free and aiming once more as Enjolras righted himself, his musket now aimed down the street as well.

"That child could be ours," Enjolras whispered fondly through his heartache, understanding that his son would be just as brave and it would be just as horrifying.

"Yes," Aurelie agreed, but right now was not the time to think of the child that was theirs. It did not even register. She was a mother-to-be, and with Gavroche in severe danger, her maternal instincts did not take her own life into consideration.

A mother would take a bullet for her child.

And just like Aurelie, Enjolras was thinking the same. It registered prominently that Aurelie was beside him and he would protect her with his life, but his paternal instincts had risen to the top, and for the first time since this barricade had risen, it did not even cross his mind to order her away.

But he would protect her in equal measure.

The dust was just thick enough to shroud the little man, thick enough that they could barely make out the cannon and soldiers down the street, but it would settle in a lull and even at its thickest, it in no way ensured Gavroche's safety.

"Gavroche!" Courfeyrac hissed, just loud enough to reach the boy without calling attention to the cannoneers and those at the corner with bayonets. "What are you doing out there?"

Aurelie heard the wobble in what little tone he carried through this whisper. She adjusted her hold on the trigger.

Gavroche turned and looked up at the barricade with a smile across his large lips. "I am gathering munitions, citizen," he said, then knelt down and retrieved a pouch from a fallen soldier.

"Can you not see the grapeshot?" Courfeyrac asked just as exactly that was fired from the second cannon, and once again Enjolras clutched Aurelie, covering her length with his body so nothing would be left vulnerable.

Almost.

Aurelie let out a cry and clutched Enjolras' shirt with her free hand as she felt the sting of a parcel hit her right bicep, having managed the exact angle necessary to strike the arm holding the musket. The pain of it was blinding and her entire body seemed to quake against the blow. She sucked in a deep breath; she would not allow him to know that she had been hit by anything or he'd send her away.

Rolling her shoulder as Enjolras released her, she breathed through the excruciating pain as she bit her lips, tasting a hint of blood. Looking over at her arm, her clothes showed no sign of a wound, but she knew it would be terrible. This, however, she could live through. It would take concentration and every ounce of determination she had, but a wound on her arm was inconsequential.

When she swallowed, she tongued the inside of her mouth and located a cut in her lower lip. Then that too she denied the right to feel as she propped her right elbow on a piece of wood, not having enough strength in her upper arm to raise the gun.

"A little bit of rain," she heard Gavroche call as she blinked over and over again until the stars in her eyes cleared enough to see him. "I'm used to rain."

"Not the sort you're dealing with," Enjolras called angrily.

"Get back!" Courfeyrac demanded, having decided the time for whispers was over.

"That's an order," Enjolras added, rising enough that his head peaked over the pinnacle of the barricade.

Aurelie kept her gun aimed firmly, the only one behind the barricade who had not relaxed their weapons as they made their demands that Gavroche return. She may have peaked over the top if she felt her right arm had the strength to lift her body, but it was a blessing, as that would have left her just as exposed as the others.

The little boy turned his back to the barricade, calling over his shoulder, "I'll return presently," then continued into the cloud of dust.

Stepping over the corpses with his little crate, Aurelie split her time between aiming at the soldiers and watching in horror as Gavroche bent down and picked up a cartridge pouch. She let her eyes dart rapidly from body to body, found that there were at least twenty for him to poach from.

She worried he would try to take them all.

He advanced further, and only due to his tiny body, he was able to make ground. Courfeyrac had given up the fight as to now not bring attention to the little boy, and the barricade was silent. Gavroche climbed to his belly and crawled his way through the dead, pushing his wood carrier in front and lifting munitions pouches from the fallen. He diligently placed them in the bottle carrier, robbing seven without danger falling on him yet.

Not one breath was taken as Aurelie watched little Gavroche find the body of a corporal, taking a powder horn. He was disappearing further into the fog, and Aurelie knew his tiny body would at one point no longer be obscured from the other side.

And it was in this thought that a gunshot was heard, the explosion of skin beside where he'd just nabbed another box of cartridges from the body of a dead. Gavroche simply watched this as though nothing had happened, then laughed.

"Now they're killing the dead on me!" he cried through a fit of hysterics.

The next shot hit the pavement, the bullet ricocheting up into the air and off a brick wall. A third hit his carrier, wood near the top splintering. It was at this one that Gavroche climbed to his feet.

Still he did not run. He placed his hands on his hips, the half full carrier beside his feet. And taunting the army, he began to sing:

_"They're ugly in Nanterre, that's the fault of Voltaire. And dumb in Palaiseau, that's the fault of Rousseau."_

Picking up his crate, he returned the cartridges that had fallen from it at the blast, not missing one. A fourth bullet whizzed by him and struck the barricade just below Aurelie. Also odd: she did not wince nor duck. Gavroche could be her child, and the mother in her would not care for herself while her offspring met gunfire, hence the gunfire that had grazed the barricade directly beneath her frame did not matter.

_"I am not the lord mayor, that's the fault of Voltaire. I'm only a sparrow, that's the fault of Rousseau."_

Another gunshot sounded, and Gavroche answered with his call:

_"Joy in my nature, that's the fault of Voltaire. Misery is my trousseau, that's the fault of Rousseau."_

This spectacle was horrifying and mesmerizing. Little Gavroche taunted the army as he moved while fired upon, and he seemed to be enjoying the game. The sparrow was pecking at the hunters, and each shot was answered with a verse. They went on firing at him and they went on missing him. Aurelie could hear laughter from the National Guard as they fired upon a small child, which sickened her greatly. How dare they find this funny! These men had no honor, no bravery. And when she tore her eyes from Gavroche, she saw the anger and anxiety of those behind the barricade.

This made her once again finger the trigger, aimed directly at the corner of the building so the next man who dare step out would be fired upon by her.

Beside her, Enjolras' shoulder was pressed against her left, already seeing the deaths of these men by his hands.

But only arms peeked around the corner, firing without aim at this brave child, who continued to pilfer, continued to fill the crate.

Aurelie had been counting, and on the fifteenth bullet, it had either more determination or better aim, and it struck Gavroche in the shoulder.

Gavroche simply looked down at his wound as though he didn't know what had pierced him, and as Aurelie's jaw fell open in a silent cry, the boy raised a hand to his shoulder to cover his wound. He teetered for a moment, then rallied, clutching the bottle carrier with more conviction. But another step and he fell, taking to his knees.

He did not, however, lie. He simply sat there in a daze, then sang:

_"I fell from the air, that's the fault of Voltaire. Nose in the gutter, though, that's the fault of—"_

There he was cut off by a bullet to his chest and he fell to the side in a heap. God had sent this sparrow to wing and brought him into the heavens above.

Staring with revulsion at the soldier who had stepped out into the street to finish the job, Aurelie held her breath.

Her father had held her shoulders once as he leaned over her. He had helped her steady the gun. He had whispered: _Hold your breath_. He had softly said: _A gentle squeeze, Aurelie, or it will tilt your angle and you will miss_. He had then held her right hand as she pulled the trigger.

Her very first shot she had killed a rabbit.

_When the time comes, I will be fiercer still_.

Aurelie slowly pulled the trigger and the gunpowder became a flame in front of her face, the report rising, the bullet sailing through the air.

It struck the soldier in the chest and he fell to the ground, dead.

Enjolras stared at Aurelie; a perfervid heart shaking his soul. Awestruck, horrified, proud, and fearful for how this would affect her. He was sickened that she would have to live with having killed a man while respecting her greatly for her courage and valiancy.

Without turning away, Aurelie let her gun drop to her right as she lowered her left hand knowing someone would be below to hand her a fully loaded weapon once more. And Bossuet, oblivious to the girl, pressed a fresh musket into her hand. It took some effort, but Aurelie managed to get it to her right shoulder once more, ready to fire at any man who rounded the corner.

Marius and Combeferre had rushed through the door and entered the dust. It was Marius who scooped Gavroche up, cradling him in his arms. Combeferre brought the pannier of cartridges back so Gavroche's plight would not go for naught.

Many shots were fired upon them, and when Marius entered carrying Gavroche, he had blood trailing down his cheek. A bullet had grazed his skull, and he hadn't thought to note it. His only order was to bring this child back home.

Once they were safely inside, Aurelie lowered the gun.

As she could not raise her body with her injured arm, Aurelie rolled to her right to push the musket against Enjolras' chest, eying him levelly. She noticed the way he looked at her and locked her chin without a blink of an eye.

She said: "I am now as peccant as you."

Enjolras exhaled a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding, then shook his head vehemently.

He said: "You did what was right."

"As did you before," she responded. "Do not forget this truth."

Rolling further to the side, Aurelie winced with her head low in hopes he wouldn't see the great effort it was taking her to move. She managed to use the strength in her left arm to bear the weight until she was upright on a trunk, then finally rose and stepped down to the pavement.

Marius handed the little boy over to Combeferre as Courfeyrac, right beside Aurelie, ripped his cravat and bandaged Marius' head. Gavroche would join his sister Eponine and the two men whom had died earlier by the cannonball. Aurelie followed in a trance without a thought in her head other than knowing she must; every man that fell at this barricade deserved her respect.

Enjolras concentrated on what he must; shaking things off and looking forward. A war raged on inside him as real as the war he faced. Once again they'd been saved, if that would only last even a few more minutes. Gavroche had managed to fill quite a load at the cost of his life, and Enjolras thought of his unborn son. What he would do if Gavroche had been his child.

He was horrified by his pride and respect for the little boy, just as he would if little Gavroche had been his own.

* * *

Consequences of a Decision

Aurelie parked herself beside her pillar once more, dumbstruck and unable to focus her vision on anything. She thought through the last fifteen minutes: the fear as she'd watched Gavroche poach ammunition from the dead, the intimacy of standing beside her love in battle instead of watching from afar, the pain of having been struck, the defiance of denying Enjolras the right to know she'd been wounded, the horror of seeing Gavroche fall, and the enmity and vengeance that had driven her to kill a soldier. She thought through all of these things as she clutched her elbow below her wound and had a confounding moment of clarity:

She thought she'd feel more.

Everything that had transpired while she leaned shoulder to shoulder with Enjolras atop the barricade should have left her broken, and indeed she was for many reasons, but currently she was instead in confusion. We'd call this shellshock, but she was the opposite. Ethereally clear to the point of a higher plain. Decisions had been made. She felt no regret over her action, but she was not satisfied either. She had proven to herself and to Enjolras what she'd expected she would be, but before had the niggling doubt that when the time came she would be unable to act accordingly.

Enjolras had killed. Aurelie had killed. They were both damned.

But Aurelie had not damned Enjolras and did not feel damned for her own actions. She hoped her words had registered with him; that she was now equally as guilty, and if he would sentence himself to a death, he should sentence her with the same, therefore placing them on even ground so he could not be a hypocrite. She hoped he understood that the actions of others create an equal reaction. He had killed a murderer, she had done the same.

But we do not discount the torrent of emotions she felt, though she did believe these emotions should be magnified. And the varieties of these emotions—this anger, this fear, this horror, this honor, this pride, this love—the extent of these emotions were ineffable.

She finally brought her hand up and over her bicep, her mouth hanging open in a silent cry as her delicate touch upon the place the parcel had struck began to burn. Once at her shoulder, through acute throbbing that seemed to shake her soul, she managed to remove her arm from the sleeve of her jacket. Unbuttoning the top of her shirt, she slowly pulled it down to her elbow.

She would need help with this.

So she watched. Waited. Only one person could assist her, and it was not Enjolras. Combeferre would be the best, but she would not let any other man in on her secret presence.

It was five minutes before he was within distance of her voice, and she whispered his name, catching his attention.

Marius peered at her, then saw her state of dress first; one jacket sleeve off, her linen shirt down on her right side. He could see a grey cloth wrapped around her breasts and he quickly dashed over to the shadows and knelt down.

That was when he saw her injury. The lead had grazed her arm, ripping her skin in a jagged line about five centimeters long. Around that, blood had pooled beneath the surface in a red speckling, the skin swelling prominently. The impact point was the size of a fist, and she'd been lucky it had only struck the side or she'd be out a limb.

"Oh my god," Marius breathed, delicately urging her arm toward him by a hold on her elbow. "Aurelie, what is this?"

His touch felt too much to bear, and Aurelie let out a high pitched cry, then stifled it abruptly.

"A lead of grapeshot struck me," she said, her eyes blurring as Marius' thumb brushed the side of the injury. She noticed he was shocked and unable to think of what to do, so she pulled herself together. "Marius, I need your help."

Marius nodded, dropping her arm, which sent her into another fit of blinding pain with a small cry.

"I'm getting Combeferre," he said while shaking his head.

Aurelie reached for him with her left hand, but was too far to touch him. "No, stop!" she cried. She would have to pull herself together for the both of them, it seemed. "I just need your help. No one else."

Marius knelt before her, determined to do as she asked against his better judgment.

"What do you need?"

Aurelie gently closed her eyes and sniffled before she spoke, her breathing stunted. "A bandage," she said levelly. "And your assistance in wrapping it."

After a gulp, Marius nodded, then rose and ran to the café. He returned a minute later with alcohol and gauze.

Blood was seeping from her wound, and Marius held her eyes with his chin tucked low. "This will hurt," he said austerely. "Are you ready for this?"

Aurelie knew this was a severe warning: _Be silent or everyone will know your secret._

Bracing herself through deep breaths, Aurelie nodded firmly.

"Do it."

She bit her lower lip as she watched Marius remove the cap. He placed the mouth of the bottle above her cut and paused. "Hold my eyes, Aurelie," he said. "Keep them on me, nothing else."

He then let the alcohol pour down her arm and over her wound.

There is no comprehension of pain while in the midst of it, and Aurelie felt as though she was leaving the planet. Her mouth fell open in a scream that caught in her throat, forcing the sound back with all her efforts. She could not hold his eyes; it was impossible.

But the stinging ceased and she shook her head back and forth, then met Marius' eyes.

"Very good, Aurelie," he said soothingly, amazed the girl had managed to keep herself together. She never ceased to amaze him. He set the bottle aside and picked up the gauze. "Eyes in mine," he reminded her.

They maintained eye contact. The initial circle was the worst of it and Marius was delicate and deliberate with his motions, moving slowly so he would not accidently apply unnecessary pressure that would send her into more pain.

Still, he wrapped it tightly.

"How did this happen?"

"When Gavroche ran out front, I climbed the barricade."

Marius nodded, expecting nothing less.

"Did he know?"

"I placed myself beside him with a musket."

Marius exhaled a sigh. When confronted with Enjolras and Aurelie, it was the expected that would shock him.

"He does not know you were hit," he said sadly, knowing that Aurelie certainly had hid this. If Enjolras had known he would have gone mad.

"He placed himself on top of me," Aurelie said, then chuckled lightly. "Not enough, it seems, and we're the better for it."

Marius tied off the bandage and released her arm. "Can you move it?"

Aurelie rolled her shoulder first, then tried to lift her arm. The pain was terrible, but nothing she couldn't get through, and if necessary, she could bear it long enough for it to go hidden.

"Good," Marius said, watching her experiment with her muscles. He opened his mouth once more to tell her to leave, but decided not to insult her. He'd tried with Enjolras and had drawn his ire for it. Aurelie would decide when, and there would be no convincing her a moment before she was ready. "How much pain are you in?"

"The right amount," Aurelie said, gently working her shirt up over her shoulder. "This will serve as my reminder of what happened. What I did."

She finished with her jacket as Marius looked on to be sure she was alright on her own. Finally she said, "Thank you. For everything you've done."

"I will not stop," Marius assured her, holding her gaze.

"Then I thank you even more for everything you will do."

Watching Marius rise, Aurelie's mouth popped open.

"Marius," she said quietly.

"Yes?"

"I killed the man who killed Gavroche."

No, she did not regret what she did. If anything her regret was that she hadn't been firing rapidly all along even with munitions as short as they were. But she did realize with Marius in front of her how Enjolras had felt.

Enjolras was not regretting what he had done. He had been looking for forgiveness.

Aurelie confessing what she had done to Marius was asking for the same.

Holding her eyes, the corner of Marius' mouth twitched. He nodded at her as he exhaled. Somehow the second he'd heard she had stood beside Enjolras during the horrifying display, he'd known that shot had come from her. She was fierce, and she'd lived up to being fiercer still.

"Aye," he responded. "And we will kill the rest."

* * *

Final Preparations

Combeferre and Enjolras spread the munitions gathered to each man behind the barricade; Enjolras counting as each one was given, finding they would each have fifteen shots to fire now. His determination was strong; he would make good use of each one. Make them pay dearly for what they had done, and for what they would continue to do.

"That man over there," Combeferre whispered to Enjolras, gesturing to the gentleman who had arrived last night. "I offered him a musket and cartridge but he declined."

"He does not want to fight."

"Suicide you think?" Combeferre asked.

Enjolras shook his head. "He may not want to kill, but he still defends us."

Combeferre didn't know what to make of it. "Heroism, is seems, has its oddballs."

Aurelie noticed that as the men talked, the fire battering the barricade was going unnoticed by all. It was very real to her, but seemed to be coming from another land in their eyes, and she couldn't totally understand why. They joked and teased, sat around as though nothing was happening. Enjolras had said last night that the National Guard was wasting their bullets while the insurgents picked them off, and when she'd heard only fifteen rounds were left for each, she knew it was over.

It seemed they did too.

It was how this news was received that differentiated her from them. She was terrified as she tried to push this knowledge from her brain; struggled to reconcile what she knew and denied. They had accepted it and were living what life they had left while grapeshot splintered the wood on the other side, sometimes whizzing over their heads and landing on the pavement. Their position would swiftly go from threatening to desperate, and Aurelie stared at Enjolras, unable to see him now as anything other than a dead man walking.

She and many others were trapped in here, only one escape through the back which she would take in due time. But until she spoke to him or saw him actually dead, she would not leave. The time was closing in, so she decided to ready herself for her run, and made her way to the door of her building.

Sneaking up the stairs, she entered her room. It was a struggle with her injured arm to pry the planks from the wall, but she had determination on her side and was quite aware that she would be hiding this pain for weeks to come.

Gazing down on the most precious of belongings, she ran her thumb over the red wax seal. She may spend her money, she may sell the last of her jewelry. But this was what she would have left once all was said and done, and she pocketed it inside her jacket before heading down to the street.

All shutters were closed now, these rooms now proof of those who were not involved so they would not be met with accusation or death. On her return to the street, she saw Bossuet and Feuilly using the powder horn from Gavroche's cache to make new ammunition cartridges. Bossuet said, "We will soon be catching the coach to a different planet," and Aurelie shuddered.

Combeferre's apron was bloodied as he tended to those injured, which included studying Marius' head wound, rewrapping it so it would hold tight and stop the blood.

Beside Enjolras, Courfeyrac was divvying up what was left of their weapons and they were making decisions on what would go to who, setting aside their own cache of swords, pistols, carbines, rifles and muskets.

Aurelie briskly strode to the café to look for anything left that she could offer them. She found the bottles of aqua fortis just inside that Enjolras had stashed; the liquid they'd used to melt the silver, would use at a turning point to melt flesh. Those she had to let be, as he'd stowed them purposefully. Enjolras' would not have gone into this without clear plans for all scenarios.

Grantaire was still asleep huddled over a table upstairs, arms dangling off, and no sound had managed to wake him from his stupor. That or he was dead, but once she took his hand to try and rouse him, she found him warm to the touch. No sound can wake a man drunk with the most vile of concoctions, as she knew Grantaire had most certainly ingested them all.

Coming up empty, she left the café. Truly hope was lost. She didn't know what she'd expected to find; possibly barrels of gunpowder along with closets of secret weapons. Perhaps a few cannons lying around waiting and ripe for the picking, along with stacks of cannonballs and grapeshot. Something of equal force, or maybe even unequal force to give them the upper hand and kill the thousands of men who were thrown against the few. From there they would take to the parliament, usurping the government, changing the world and living their happy little lives in peace.

Hope was long gone, and once she'd left the café, she simply slumped against the wall just outside the door, her elbows on her knees in the warm sun. It was no longer a time to hide, it was a time to wait for Enjolras to order her away, where she would flee the scene and never know what came of it other than the recognition that everyone had perished. Because of this, she waited to be seen.

Between two shots of cannon fire, the clock struck in the distance. Aurelie counted twelve, heard Combeferre say, "Midday."

At this, Enjolras leapt up on the barricade to face his men. It was time, not that the time had been predetermined. It was just that the clock had reminded him that time had indeed passed, and they were losing this battle. It was time to prepare.

"Take cobblestones up into the café," he bellowed. "Every windowsill must be lined. Half of you are to work there, the other half at the barricade. Be perfect, there is no time to waste."

He hopped down and marched directly to Aurelie, as if he'd seen her all along, though he hadn't. He'd thought she was gone, but during all this, he'd realized she was absolutely still here. He'd been stupid to think that she would have left without an order. Without a goodbye. He'd always known where she was, able to feel her presence, always.

Love Clouds Better Judgment

Aurelie finally got her wish. The order she'd been awaiting, though she would have left without it had she not been witness to the horrible death of Gavroche. His death had stunned her into stupidity, and this was the smallest of senseless acts she would make from here on out.

Enjolras now in front of her, he roughly lifted her to her feet by her arm in urgency, and she noted how thankful she was that it had been her left, or he would have known the pain she was suffering through. And this was the first time she was not angry over how she was grabbed. She in fact relished in this hold.

"Have you seen enough?"

Aurelie nodded. "Yes, I believe I have now."

Enjolras silently thanked the God in heaven that their timing was finally in sync.

"I thanked you last night for staying," he breathed. "Slept with your tears. I will not see them again. It's time, Aurelie. Time for you to run."

Enjolras noted his fear and embraced it, as he knew once she'd left he would have none to spare. He was very much ready in the way only a leader could feel. In bravery and in honor, he would stay with his men. Through this, he would save her life.

"Alexandre. . ."

Enjolras swallowed heavily as his eyes began to prick.

"Not a sound from your lips," he said. He could not listen to her voice now, for he may fall apart. That voice had changed his world once, just as her eyes had done and were continuing to do now. "Saying my name just now holds all you have to tell me. I hear it all in my name, only. Leave, Aurelie. Tell our son the story of his father. Tell him I loved him before he had ever been an idea, just as I've loved you. Here I will die, but in you I will live."

Aurelie bit her lips fiercely as to not make a sound. Felt her eyes swell with fresh tears. She nodded once, and only once. Received a nod in return. His Christian name had been uttered only in their vows, and Enjolras was right; his name leaving her lips now held the magnitude of everything she felt, including her goodbye.

_Alexandre: Defender of Mankind._

Looking her over, Enjolras realized he was not yet done. He removed her cap and threw it away with force. As with the barricade, he needed her to be a masterpiece, if not more so. It was the difference between her life and death.

"You will need to be a woman as you run. Not much I can do about your choice of attire." He reached for pins, pulling them from her hair as one quickly captures and kills fleas. "Be clear, meet their eyes. Sing a song on the top of your lungs so they hear the voice of an angel before they've seen you. Demand their attention before they see any movement, for they may fire at a shadow without a hesitation. There is a small hole behind the café; Gavroche used it last night."

Once satisfied with her hair, he looked upon her for the last time.

Looked down to her belly.

Met her eyes once more.

"You are not to talk to anyone, do not answer any questions. Sing, but do not speak until you are free from this god forsaken city," he said, his tone severe. "I will silence you now. Let it be the last to brush your lips until you are long gone."

With this, he took her head in his hands and yanked her against him, meeting her mouth.

The kiss was brief, but meant as much as all their prior kisses combined. Made up for the kisses that would be lost from here on out. And as though her life was flashing before her eyes, in this kiss, the split second was an entire lifetime.

She would not let a sound leave her lips from here on out, not even a song; figured she would spend her life mute so his last kiss would linger forever. Her last word would be his Christian name. She could command attention with her eyes and personage, had easily been able to her whole life. But through her silence, she would feel his last kiss, always.

He had to leave, and began to, but paused. Held. Then turned.

"I love you, Aurelie," he said quietly, his chin tucked in shame. "Forgive me."

Then he was gone. She only saw his red jacket running for the barricade. He scaled the far left side and was handed weaponry from Courfeyrac before he too climbed atop beside him.

Not knowing why she was making such a foolish mistake, Aurelie made an unconscious decision that only after crossing the threshold she regretted. But instead of turning to parallel the café and hurrying behind it to the small hole in the wall of a building where she could safely exit through the alley, she ran inside and up the stairs.

She had sworn to watch him take his last breath, and at this point, if it meant her life, they would die as a family.

A family.

What they could have been. What they should have been in any other time. Enjolras was fighting for what had not been offered by government or God. They should have lived a different life, the three of them. Her, Enjolras, and Honore.

No attention was paid by the insurgents to Grantaire in the back of the second floor as he lay dead to the world around him. No attention had been paid to her as the cobblestones were stacked against the windows. They did not notice the angel, but swore internally that they felt a guardian looking after them when they brushed by her.

The second floor had been completed, and she crossed over to the window in the front.

Laying a delicate hand on the wall, she pressed herself against the stones and peered out through a hole.

From this bird's eye view, she could see well beyond the barricade, and everything that happened below. And like a bird soaring in the air, the world grew silent with her distance and the horror became crystal clear as the scene unfolded.


	14. Book Fourteen: All Things Must End

**BOOK FOURTEEN:**

**All Things Must Come to an End**

* * *

Enjolras' Final Orders

Enjolras leaned against the barricade. He wondered when he would no longer feel Aurelie, then his wonder ceased. In this moment of clarity, he realized he would feel her, always, as long as she lived and breathed on this earth. He always had. Always.

Feuilly took charge of the redoubt, overseeing the men who placed the final cobblestones near the door to the café. When Enjolras caught Feuilly beckoning him over, he gently closed his eyes to clear the moisture that had been blurring his vision for several minutes now.

His heart was heavy. His body was heavy. His soul was heavy.

But as these men were all about to die, he forced himself to be present instead of wishing he could change the past. It was all he could do, now. Options had been presented, choices had been made, these which he had to live with and which he would have to die from.

"We're finished here," Feuilly said, brushing his palms together to clear the debris, then wiping them on his trousers.

"And the kitchen?" Enjolras asked, turning to Combeferre.

"Nailed shut," he responded. "Let us pray our wounded men will survive the assault."

Enjolras nodded firmly, refusing to think any further about the horrors that were about to transpire.

"Upstairs?" he asked.

Courfeyrac grinned. "Cobblestones are all in place. Heads will roll."

Enjolras turned to two men holding the axes. "Have those ready to chop up the staircase after we're up," he told them, his voice clipped but profoundly calm. He turned to address everyone in the area. "Everything we have left must be loaded and at the ready; muskets in hand, pistols at hips. Have your swords within reach for when our ammunitions run dry."

"And who will be drinking that?" Bossuet asked Enjolras, pointing at the dozen bottles of Aqua Fortis at their feet.

"They are," Enjolras said gravely.

Bossuet nodded at this, having suspected this answer already. "We'll take them up," he told Enjolras.

Aurelie heard a commotion coming up the stairs and shirked behind the billiard table. She watched Bossuet and Joly set the bottles of Aqua Fortis on a table just to the side of the staircase, then rush back down. She returned to her determined post at the front window; the post she would not leave.

It only then struck her that if they'd brought the bottles here, it was here they would run to for their last stand. She gazed around the room, her head swimming against a current of thought as she studied her options. She still had time to run, but that was most certainly not an option she would come close to considering. Not now. Her mind had made the decision without her consent, and determination was now fighting against her. Fighting away what was right for what was wrong.

There was the attic where citizens were hiding, though the army could end up there as well. For the first time, this anxiety was not out of fear of Enjolras spotting her. This was fear that the National Guard would when they inevitably had killed them all and would search the grounds for any surviving members of the Les Amis de l'ABC.

And still, if she died, she would die as a family.

Her eyes settled on a closet near Grantaire, hardly noticeable with its boards lining up directly with those that surrounded it. It would be the best she could do, and the very most, it seemed.

In surrender, she turned back around to peer through the hole.

_Preparations for an attack are always methodical, and in this slow pace, Enjolras was able to stand in the middle of the street and survey those around him. The stones had been set in all windows: the barricade, while taking a beating, still stood strong, serving the purpose it had lived to be. He felt that since men like these were to die, their death should be a masterpiece._

He beckoned over Marius. "When it begins," he began, as though it hadn't even begun at all. "I'm to give the last orders inside. You will stay and keep watch."

Marius nodded. He had promised Aurelie he would protect Enjolras, and would until he died. When the men were offered an escape, he should have insisted Enjolras leave instead of whispering his vote in hopes Enjolras would understand. Let everyone know that he had a wife in the form of Aurelie; someone they all loved deeply. They would have let him go. It was Enjolras who would not have allowed it, and Marius knew the reason he hadn't. It would have destroyed his life from here on to be sold out to those who venerated him. So the most Marius could do was live up to his promise even though they were both to die.

Enjolras spoke his final orders with determination and resignation:

"Twenty men at the barricade, now. Six in ambush at the window of the first floor to open fire on the assailants through the loopholes in the cobblestones. Shortly, when the drum beats the charge, let the twenty from below rush the barricade. Those who arrive first get the best view."

The barricades death throes were about to begin.

And the moment Enjolras completed his final orders, the drum beat the charge.

* * *

The Death of the Barricade

Enjolras ran for the barricade and deftly climbed atop and to the left, placing his body in the nook between the stairs and the great rise. He could see between splinters of wood from this obscured position that on the other side, National Guards were running toward them, the drum picking up tempo, bugles blaring in the distance.

Against the cannon fire, the barricade held as sappers approached with axes, behind them men with bayonets.

_The assault was so frenzied that for a moment the barricade was overrun with assailants; but it shook off the soldiers the way a lion shakes off dogs and was covered in besiegers the way a cliff gets covered in snow._

They would reappear. Scale. Meet death at the hands of those on top. Fade. Scale again.

Enjolras had the entire barricade in his head, as he always had. He held himself in reserve while they still could, allowing the barricade to serve its purpose. He saved all his strength and ammunition, at one point eyeing Marius at the opposite end to be sure he was doing the same. When he turned back and noticed two soldiers a meter in front of him, he saw them fall in that very moment without the soldiers ever meeting his eyes.

It was at a second glance that he found Marius now fighting out in the open. They had fallen from Marius' gun, and he wielded a sword as deftly as a dancer. He was making himself the target over Enjolras, sacrificing himself first so Enjolras could lead until the final body had fell.

They were losing their bullets, but not their wit.

Enjolras saw that Courfeyrac had lost his cap and began to laugh, drawing attention to himself from Bossuet, who followed his eyes and asked of Courfeyrac, "What happened to your hat?"

"They finally got rid of it for me with cannon fire."

While not joking around, they spoke of their higher call.

"Does anyone—" cried Feuilly bitterly, "understand these men"—and with that he began to list many names, known to all of them—"who promised to come and join us, who swore they would help us, and who were bound to do so in all honor. These men who were to have been our generals and who have deserted us!"

Combeferre smiled gravely. "There are people who observe rules of honor the way you and I observe the stars: from afar."

Still the barricade held. Thousands to the few, but it was the few who had a fortress. Atop the high wall, they could shoot down upon any soldier whom they felt had grown too near, and it was done with ease, one bullet able to kill them without the careful aim one needs from a distance.

Aurelie watched from her nest, amazingly calm. She had come to accept the inevitable in a way she'd thought she had days ago, but only realized it in the last hour. Her acceptance was serene. There was no separation save for the cobblestones; the glass having been shattered by the cannon that killed the two men earlier. Still, from above like a bird, the picture was clear.

She saw the blood soak their coats from their wounds, and with their very few bullets and chipped swords, these men had turned to Titans. Like the peaks of the highest mountains, many men tried to be the first atop the world, and failed over and over again.

Despite the macabre scene, Aurelie watched on with pride, a pensive smile on her lips. These men—these Titans—her nearest and dearest—men she had loved—These men and their barricade were perfection to their final breaths.

_In the next half hour, Bossuet was killed. Feuilly was killed. Courfeyrac was killed. Joly was killed. Combeferre, run through with three thrusts of a bayonet to the chest just as he was lifting a wounded comrade, only had time to look to the sky as he breathed his last_.

Aurelie swore he met her eyes.

She said each of their names aloud as they fell, so each man had a woman who loved and honored them.

With their positioning on either side of the barricade, though fully atop and leaning against staircases, Marius and Enjolras fought on. Aurelie could barely recognize Marius from his many wounds, most to his head. His face was covered in blood, yet he fought on, the dead giving reckoning to each and every man who dared near him.

Enjolras, in an act of defiance to the world and God, was still unscathed. Not a scratch on his skin, not a tear in his clothes. When he attempted to fire with his musket and found it empty, he threw it at a soldier hard enough to kill the man with the force of it, then picked up one of the swords. He swung left, then right, then left again, slicing men open. When he lost one of his four swords, he simply picked up another until all he had left was a stump.

With no more generals left, their dead bodies now a part of the barricade, a cannon fired at the top, its aim to bring down what they could not with soldiers meter by meter. While the balls themselves did not breach, they were making dents. We explain the repulsive actions of this army by saying that those who fired the cannons paid no mind to their own men ahead of them at the barricade, continuing their attempts to scale as Enjolras and Marius, on either side, kept up their fight. These National Guardsmen were disposable in the eyes of the generals who ordered the fire, and were killed by their kinsmen who lit the fuse.

But Aurelie noticed that the rubble was giving a slant to the barricade on both sides, killing two birds with one cannonball. This made it easier for those soldiers to climb as the top began its descent, an avalanche; a glacier's cleave.

These were things only a bird could see, but as the men noticed the National Guardsmen were now able to scale the top, Aurelie watched her beloved insurgents begin a new direction: fight or flight. The moment self-preservation won out, and they made for the café—their redoubt—with the same wishful thinking that had struck Aurelie: that perhaps this unholy place would offer their salvation. A tower in a fort offered more safety than the ground below, but the wall had been breached and the tower would fall.

At the same time, the flash of self-preservation struck Aurelie as it had those on the ground. And in this, forgetting what her backup plan had been, she spun in circles in the room wondering where she would go. It seemed the room spun in the opposite direction, every wall a blur, not a table seen.

But God's light shone on the closet in the back behind the second floor bar. Behind Grantaire. And she stumbled toward it, needing a hold on a chair and table here and there along the way, still in great pain and dizzied by her fear. Taking Grantaire's hand, she pulled with all her might, which was very little. For a drunk asleep, he had some rigid muscles and would not be dragged to salvation behind her, God not allowing this sad man his chance to survive.

If he'd even let her survive.

Inside, the seams shut cleanly, and it was dark save for a knot in the wood with which to look out from. From here it took an act of faith that Enjolras would not perish below where she could not see, as she had determined with her soul. God would not take him until he was in her sights because she had willed it so.

Unaware of what was taking place on the second floor, Enjolras had backed from the barricade with a sword he'd lifted from the body of Courfeyrac. He'd also managed another from Feuilly, and it was slid at his side in a sash for when the sword he currently wielded was chipped to nothing.

He kept his body in consistent motion so a bullet aimed would sail by. It was the bullets without aim he had to worry about, and he continued to yell, "Stay back," aware of his greatness, and it seemed many guardsman heeded his warning, strangely backing from him rather than taking an opportunity to out man him.

When a sergeant disobeyed him, Enjolras sliced him through.

This sent the guardsmen into a frenzy, faces red with rage, and still Enjolras was miraculously spared, if only for this moment.

His back to the café, he held the door open for those few left. "No other way in, so make your run now!" he hollered. In all this, he was the bravest man who had ever lived while shielding his fellow insurgents while they rushed inside. It was only when he thought the last man had entered and was to turn and follow that he noticed Marius off to his right, fighting openly.

A second can last minutes, and in his pause, he took in the sight of his closest friend whom he knew could only see the world through a red veil of blood in his eyes. He didn't think of the times he'd doubted him, only swelled with pride and respect for the boy who had once hated him, the boy he'd once thought naïve, the boy who had turned around and joined his side as a man. Who had proved to him more than all how right they'd been about the state, the republic, when even a few of the rich could see the world for what it was. Marius, soon dead, was proof that they had done right here.

Enjolras caught the final bullet in his moment of salute; the bullet that struck Marius' collarbone and took him to the ground. All of this had taken place in no more than a second, and what followed took less:

Enjolras said a prayer for Marius, thanked him for bearing witness to his marriage, then saluted him for his bravery and love.

* * *

The Fortress Serves its Purpose

The door, pulled behind Enjolras with such force that it severed five fingers from a guardsmen outside, was shut and sealed. Briefly glancing at the bloodied nubs on the floor, Enjolras noted that it was the least of the mangling that would be inflicted from here. He looked forward to leaving these men with scars so they would forever remember how the few had risen and fought bravely for what they believed in.

Aurelie could hear the banging on the building now, such force that the structure shook as if in an earthquake that would shatter the globe. Dust above rained down on her; she could feel splinters tickle her nose on their fall.

She knew not why it was such a relief to hear Enjolras call out below, "Let's make them pay through the nose for us."

He was dead, already. But his voice only strengthened her resolve to see this through, and watch with fire as the Les Amis killed off the pawns of their corrupt monarchy. Kill those who had killed them. And God was answering her prayers that he live until she could see him take his final breath, which led her to believe that she was safe. Accepting that the loss of Enjolras' life was God's plan, he had returned her acceptance by making it on her terms and at her time: Enjolras had made it to the building.

Enjolras was now at the point where he only had time to think of his own death, and with this, what it would mean to Aurelie. It was a mere matter of minutes now. He secured the door with a bar, bolted it with the key, wrapped a chain and padlock. When he heard a click of a gun beside him, no fire, he faced a comrade known as Thibaut; the son of a butcher.

Thibaut's munitions were gone, so Enjolras handed him his own.

Clapping a hand on the man's back in honor, thanking him with this action for fighting alongside him through this war, Enjolras turned around. There were six in total, including him. Without a word, he nodded toward the staircase, then walked by and calmly made the climb to the second floor.

Each step resonated with him. He remembered every time he'd made this climb; to drink, to argue, to preach, to plan. To listen to stories and share his own. To share friendship with those he'd watched die today.

He thought of Aurelie cresting the staircase the night he'd met her. He hadn't seen her, but he'd felt her that night, as he always did. Always. He imagined an angel had floated inside, remembered how playful she was; naïve with equal strength to volley with the best of them.

The more stairs he took, the more they veered in Aurelie's direction. The day he'd watched her sell all her clothes. The evening he'd told her he'd fallen in love. The argument that had nearly ended him. The night they'd kneeled in the church. The night they'd sworn before witnesses. The night she'd told him she was giving him the gift of a life.

Once atop, everything caught up swiftly and he looked behind him to find men hacking away at the staircase with their axes. Not one was trapped below, the staircase having disappeared in their wake of destruction.

Peering through the hole to the ground floor, he saw the door below receive similar treatment as the stairs from the assailants; the head of an axe finally breaching their castle wall.

Peering through the hole of her own, Aurelie saw his red jacket. That is not to say he never wore anything else, but it was in this jacket she'd met him, and in this jacket he'd sworn his love. And it was in this jacket that he would die.

Enjolras pointed without a word to the windows. It went understood, and his comrades ran over and pushed the cobblestones onto the heads of the men below. He heard the screams and grunts as he lethargically closed his eyes to take in each sound. His work was indeed a masterpiece for all men, and he would not allow this war to be erased in the cloud of history. Those left alive would tell of the day they faced him and his comrades; the day the barricade had risen and brave men had fought for what they believed in. Those guardsmen who died would die knowing he had raised the bar and fought like a lion. These guardsmen and soldiers were the few; they were the ones who would go unremembered. It was the masses who had risen against the government who would be written about, not those who fought for it.

The world was about to change.

Below them, the assailants were desperately trying to find a way up while Enjolras pointed at the bottles of Aqua Fortis. Each man picked up two and, in order, one at a time, threw them down, the bottles smashing against the men below. As the healthy took the place of the mangled, they too received the same treatment until no bottle was left.

_We do no more than to tell it like it was when we describe this awful carnage. The besieged, alas, uses anything he can as a weapon. Greek fire did not dishonor Archimedes; boiling pitch did not dishonor Bayard. All war is horrifying, and there is absolutely nothing to choose from in any of it._

Aurelie could hear the screams below, watched as no man screamed above. They were far from calm; they were wild with frenzy, yet Enjolras silently forced reserve upon those left.

She heard the gunshot and watched a man at Enjolras' side fall. Enjolras jumped, shaken, and it could have been him. It would be him in moments, but he had led this party and deserved a prettier death than to be shot through the floorboards in these final minutes.

With no bottles left, Enjolras grabbed what he could, flinging a chair down the hole that had once been the staircase. Then another. He got his hands around part of the broken banister and swung with madness. Gunfire shot through the floor, taking the rest of his men with it until Enjolras could do nothing but back away, force them to face him head on.

All he had left was the barrel of his carbine, and he watched the men, most disfigured with wounds, give each other a leg up. He would lunge at moments to bash the head of one making too much progress, but they were too numerous at this point and able to rise from the hole as demons rise from hell.

Aurelie had a sobering moment: Did she honestly wish to see her love fall? Could she bear it without a scream that would leave her dead as well once found? Could her heart keep beating once Enjolras' had stopped?

A heart can only take so much torment, and hers was, at this point and time, enervated. Her heart had swelled the night she met him and, impossibly, had grown larger with each day they spent together. It was too large for her chest, so perhaps it should stop with his.

These are questions we all ask of ourselves seconds before an inevitable, yet the answer remains the same, had it been posed long before. All these questions are superfluous hesitations and stalling in moments of panic. "How does one handle death_"_ is an extraneous question; the answer is that we handle it because _we have to_.

The moment passed with a resolute answer.

She would not turn away. She had his strength in equal measurement, and if he would die bravely, she would match that bravery in honor of him. She had made her choices, every choice hers and hers alone. The choice to love, the choice to stay. The choice to marry, the choice to risk. The choice to be brave, the choice to accept a weakness.

This choice—the choice to keep her eyes open—would be her last. From here, she'd have no choices, because if asked later, her choice would have been for him to live. Her choice would have been to steal him away and deliver him to safety.

He had made the choice to deliver hers, and she would return that by honoring him without looking away.

When love is forever lost, what choices are left? She would be a ghost from here. Hollow and constrained by the prison of life. But she would have her child, her copy of Enjolras, to live for.

With one hand pressed on her abdomen, the other against the wall, she watched. And no matter how horrifying it got, she would not blink.

* * *

The Epitome of Death with Honor

Enjolras finally had no option other than to back himself away and behind a billiard table near the window, clutching the barrel of his carbine in case any man came close enough to strike. Some moments are clearer than others, and this one, with the aid of the summer sun, was atmospherically charged. He gripped his fear for the love of it now, as Aurelie had only shown him what fear was a few nights before.

There is honor in fear. Fear is what gives a man the will to fight and the will to die with both fear and honor at once.

He had chosen suicide.

He was about to be murdered.

The first to safely breach the second floor pointed at Enjolras. "That's him," he said to the others who joined him. Five. Ten. "I saw his gold hair when he shot our gun captain. We kill him here and now."

Aurelie's breath remained even, she was stoic in posture with her whitened lips in a defined frown. She knew not how she would react in that last second, but for now, she would hold her head high despite no one knowing she was here.

"Go ahead," Enjolras said firmly, then wet his lips, every muscle in his body tensed and ready for the blow.

With this, he threw down his carbine with force and folded his arms over his chest in defiance, renouncing the right of these men to do so, and they would have to live with killing an honorable, unarmed man.

_Daring to die well always moves other men._

The frown turned into a rebellious purse of her lips as she saw the men hesitate. A few guns were lowered to the ground as the assailants didn't know what to make of him, a testament to Enjolras' ability to terrify. Aurelie's smile was one of anger; a smile of pride, a standing ovation to Enjolras. All the chaos had dwindled and it was now silence that shook the building, no longer the clamor of men trying to take it down.

There is not calm in the eye of a tornado, there is stillness.

Two very different things, and these men, now rattled, were left having to face the result of their tempest, the God in Enjolras judging them and finding them wanting.

This was exactly why Aurelie saw a guardsman lower his gun completely to the ground and look to the others.

He quietly said, "I feel I'm about to shoot a flower."

Again Aurelie's mouth morphed, this time into a pensive, loving smile. Enjolras had given her flowers, but he had always been the rose in a bouquet of weeds when placed against those he would offer. His stem the black of his trousers, the bud the red of his jacket.

She knew not how she would react when the petals fell, but for now, she would smile in the remembrance, the flower already marking his funeral.

Enjolras counted. It was taking twelve men to take him down. Twelve men to one lion.

The sergeant shouted: "Take aim!"

In silence, the guardsmen raised their guns.

But the very same officer who had hesitated over his beauty and honor intervened once more, placing a gentle hand on the sergeant's arm.

"Wait."

Enjolras jutted his chin forward, lower lip prominent with disdain. He eyed the man levelly as the guardsman stepped forward, looking him straight in the eyes. Just as he would not stand for his own weaknesses, he would not stand for another's.

But he did recognize receiving honor from one with honor.

"Would you like us to put a blindfold over your eyes?"

Without a movement of a muscle, Enjolras said, "No."

He would look bravely at the cowards when they fired. They would see his eyes and remember them later. They too would speak of his bravery. They would have to sleep at night with what they had done for a corrupt king.

Aurelie could not see the man's face, but she saw the way his head hung low. There was no hope; hope had disappeared long ago. But she softened once more, her chin quivering.

"Was it really you who killed the gunner sergeant?" the same guardsman asked, and through his tone, Aurelie knew he hoped Enjolras would deny it. The guardsman was hoping he could save Enjolras' life.

Enjolras did not move. He did not offer a nod, no look of regret, though his regret had been a burden carried through the morning.

"Yes."

Just then, Grantaire raised his head from the table. It is not sound that wakes the man dead with drink, it is silence. The fall of the world around him had only solidified his deep slumber, the sounds a lullaby to a sleeping child. This break, due to Enjolras' last stand of honor, had jolted him awake, and Aurelie watched him jump to his feet.

Still, he lethargically stretched his arms to the sky, yawned, and a moment later, she recognized his understanding. While having missed the last eight hours, he saw every step in a singular second. Behind his eyes, he saw the barricade fall, the repost overtaken, Enjolras the last of his friends left standing.

His waking had gone unnoticed by both Enjolras and the soldiers. It was only Aurelie who could see the entire room as the scene unfolded. While Enjolras had the focal point of the men, the soldier's backs were to the wall she hid behind.

"Take aim," the sergeant called once more, and guns snapped to the ready.

This was when Grantaire interrupted by shouting: "Long live the republic! I stand with him!"

Aurelie did not know how she would react once it was over, but knowing an inevitable outcome, she did not feel her heartbeat could continue on through another delay.

"Long live the republic!" Grantaire shouted once more, then stumbled across the room.

Enjolras stared into Grantaire's eyes in wonder. He could not fathom what Grantaire was doing, but knew inherently why it was done. And with this, he held his head higher than before while maintaining his eye contact with Grantaire, who would look nowhere else.

He'd loved Grantaire, however harshly, but this was the first action Grantaire offered that had won Enjolras' deep respect.

Aurelie watched Grantaire, driven by purpose and love, plant himself beside Enjolras in front of the guards. Grantaire was standing in her place. And through Grantaire, Enjolras was sent love from both.

"You might as well kill two birds with one stone," Grantaire said to the men, then turned to Enjolras. Brows raised, he asked humbly, "Will you allow it?"

And in the most sobering moment, Enjolras understood every action Grantaire had ever made. And as he shook Grantaire's hand with a smile, he felt Aurelie. Through Grantaire's love, he returned it to the man and let it flow through the conduit to wherever she was. He could still feel her, and would feel her in death, always.

In the second before the guns fired, Grantaire followed through with his promise. That these men would kill them both with one blow, and he swiftly stepped in front of Enjolras so any bullet that entered him would traverse through his body and into the man he loved. In this, they would be connected. In this, he was honoring both Enjolras and Aurelie.

And indeed, the bullets exited Grantaire's back and entered the body of Enjolras. They fell together, Aurelie's name on Enjolras' lips.


	15. Book Fifteen: Purgatory

**BOOK FIFTEEN:**

**Purgatory**

* * *

The Ghost of a Widow

We blink.

It is the motion while listening to music; inching forward with a crescendo, leaning back with a diminuendo as the music slowly sweeps toward a resolve. We breathe. Our eyes widen. Lethargically close. We tense, we relax.

We move.

Still, we blink.

Until there is a rest. A moment between the notes with a fermata that holds. Silence, more profound than the notes, if that is even possible, is what makes us hold our breath. In sound, we blink. It is not until silence that we pause. Not until silence that time ceases.

It's the absence of a blink that is more esoteric, and Aurelie had mastered the fine art of eyes wide open. She had seen so much: deaths of people she loved, deaths of strangers. One would think the gunfire would cause a subconscious blink from the noise alone, perhaps a bracing of muscles against the onslaught of sharp sound. We'd think witnessing the man she loved be shot should have forced her eyes closed.

But not a blink was given as the bullets sunk into the flesh of Grantaire and, subsequently, entered Enjolras behind. They both fell, and Aurelie watched on as a statue without one muscle giving way. Only his head dropped, and that was when Aurelie sucked in a deep breath, acknowledging the finality of it all. Her chin trembled, eyes watered. She silently breathed what she should have cried out long ago.

"No."

It is an incredible feat of strength for a human to hold still as the world crumbles around them—everything they'd ever known, all they'd ever loved—to maintain steady and strong.

This was not to say that she was unaffected, it was quite the opposite. The intrepid Aurelie was staying true to her promise: that she would see him through his death. This was done upholding the only standard she knew; with poise, resolve, strength, and above all, love.

This is all of Aurelie. The mirror of her love in the female form, in addition to the virtues of a woman. Sweet and kind. Beautiful and empathetic. Playful, but sure. Forgiving.

However, forgiveness is where we must stop. Not here. Not now.

The grief would strike later. In this moment, there was pride. The next, however, was boiling rage.

Even the most empathetic souls have moments where they wish the world around them dead. And Aurelie, a compassionate woman, had a mass deep within her core that was about to explode.

But it was not a wave of destruction.

It was a wave of light.

If you had seen her in this moment, you would have sworn the sun was swallowing the earth; the light her pride, the dark her grief, the velocity her rage.

As had been true her entire life, she was proper with her timing, though she did not know it. She did not wait to see that the guards had cleared the room on search of other insurgents to murder. Somehow she saw Enjolras only, always the focal point of her world.

Leaving the closet was slow and purposeful.

And she held a glare that could kill.

The glare was aimed at anyone who dare stand in her path between the pair at the window.

Upon reaching them, she crumpled to the floor between the two, her knees having given out, her body having given up. She studied the two, then took Grantaire's hand as her eyes, finally, lethargically closed. The deep respect she had for this man permeated her soul with such volume that it could be felt from afar in an aura.

Nothing could rival the love Aurelie shared with Enjolras with the exception of Grantaire's misfired arrow, and it was apt that they had died together. Aurelie knew this. Aurelie had never respected anyone as much as she did here. Grantaire had done what she would have were she not carrying a child. Grantaire had lived up to her standard in the most profound way, and while his death was needless and horrible, in those last minutes he had proved to both her and Enjolras the depth of his love. That he was indeed capable of believing, thinking, wanting, living and dying.

"Thank you," she whispered. Opening her eyes to gaze upon his face, she brought his hand to her lips. "Thank you for loving him as much as I do."

When she turned to Enjolras, she laid her palm against his shirt, the wetness of blood thick enough to slide between her fingers. She clenched the fabric in her fist to feel it; to feel the warm liquid and let it cover her hand, soak into her pores. To feel her wounded arm touch his wounded chest; experience the pain of it all. Her chin trembled with this as the tears she should have cried hours ago finally escaped her eyes.

Her tears fell upon his chest as they had the night before, mingling with his blood. They had always been one, and here they were one once more.

It went unnoticed that there were screams of citizens above who had locked themselves up in the attic as they were fired upon, pushed from windows. She did not know one citizen had grabbed a soldier and taken him down with him in an embrace to the cobblestone below.

She only knew her life had ended now, and she could not let go.

"No," she breathed, chin quaking.

This was repeated twice more as she gazed upon the sleeping angel, his eyes gently closed in the slumber of death. The man who had brought her to life, a life that had now ended in this flash of time. And each word that exited held more weight. Her chin trembled. Her eyes would not dry. Her hands shook.

"No."

It was said as though she could will back time with each protest made. Back into the closet where she would have rushed over to him and begged the guardsmen for mercy. Back to the barricade where they had held one another behind the staircase. Back to Bastille where she could have made eye contact upon bumping into him, pleaded with him to run away. Back to the church, back to the night of her return. Back to their debates, to their arguments, to their nights of passion, to the moment they'd met.

But she would not will back time a second before she'd met his eyes. As a soul cannot remember a time before its birth, Aurelie would refuse to return to the darkness before he'd become her light.

She then raised her head. It was a lethargic motion, albeit with hands that trembled. When her palm met his cheek, the trembling ceased. Even the pain in her arm felt a release, as if a liquid was slowly leaving her limb. This was a proof that, with contact, they were one. His touch—her touch—made the world still, and only they existed in the serene eye of a storm.

Her long blond hair fell over her shoulders as she leaned down, the tips now red upon meeting the blood-soaked shirt. She gazed upon this perfect man: this man whom she had loved more than she'd thought capable.

Just then, amidst the chaos—amidst the gunfire above her, the orders given by sergeants, the heavy footsteps—she heard one voice, and it was only that it was aimed in her direction.

"Boy!"

It was an order. Attention must be paid to this voice, and Aurelie whipped around fiercely in a fury, locking eyes with a guardsmen who had his musket aimed at her. If her eyes were a weapon, the soldier would have been dead from her gaze. This was the look of a madwoman, having lost everything in a flash of time.

Upon meeting her eyes, the musket lowered a few inches.

"You are woman!" the soldier breathed in surprise, now able to see her long blond locks against her chest. Her cherubim features, and he knew he was looking at an angel.

Aurelie did not rise, but she clenched; her chin tucked, eyes meeting his through her brows. She was defiant. At her hips, her fists were closed so tightly her knuckles turned white, her posture rigid. She was heaven's wrath, and in this moment, she was capable of tilting the globe.

The soldier felt a chill through his spine as he began to tremble. He felt as though God himself was judging him, and his sin was clear: he had fired upon the flower with his ranks.

"Are you one of them?" he asked, trying to stay strong and falling dramatically short. It took every ounce of effort he had to remain upright, every muscle rigid and braced for her answer.

Aurelie could see his trepidation, but there was more depth here. She was looking upon a man who had honor. It was the very same man who had offered a blindfold. The man who had called Enjolras a flower. The man who recognized his greatness and did not want to kill him.

And her fists unfolded, her shoulders relaxed, her chin untucked.

Looking down at Enjolras, she swept his golden curls from his eyes. A gentle smile crept across her lips in this recognition, positioned between men of honor. Bringing her hand down to cradle his face once more, she brushed her thumb over his soft lips, then continued to his collar.

"I am," she whispered, already a dead woman. A bullet from the soldier's gun could do no more harm than had already been inflicted. Inherently she knew no bullet would enter. If one was fired, it would traverse through her body without a scratch.

"You are so loved," she told him, then closed her eyes as she bent down to kiss his lips. In her fist she held his blood soaked shirt, and a sob echoed in her throat, though her lips remained steadfast in the action.

Time had slowed in her carriage while anxiously waiting her return to him. It had slowed the night they had all sang the melancholy song behind the barricade as she pressed her head against his chest. Here it slowed once more as she sent her love to him through this kiss. A kiss of goodbye.

She knew he was feeling it. Returning it. Probably telling her to run while, at the same time, accepting that she would not.

After her lips left his, she gazed down upon him, lingering in this final glance.

_The power of a glance has been so much abused in love stories that it has come to be disbelieved in. Few people dare now to say that two beings have fallen in love because they have looked at each other. Yet it is in this way that love begins, and in this way only._

Releasing her grasp on his shirt, she smoothed the wrinkles. Buttoned his vest. Tied his cravat. Straightened the lapels of his red jacket. Brushed a bit of powder from his shoulder. He had to look tidy, even soaked in blood. He must be a masterpiece.

Once he was in order, she took to her feet determinedly and lifted her head with pride once face to face with the officer. She eyed the guardsman levelly; features dignified and glorious to have stood beside this man. Her soldier. Her strength, honor and life. Her love.

"I am one of them," she stated majestically. She did not blink. "Vive la France."

The soldier's shoulder twitched as though he'd taken a blow, and he certainly had. He had not expected her words. Mercy, begging for her life, running away, falling into tears; all these things were expected and those would have been easy to forgive. He could have easily walked away from an angel in mourning.

But this woman had stunned him. There was recognition in his eyes, beholding true love for the first time in his life, feeling the depth of it. And it was tragic.

He held himself so tightly that the gun shook in his hands as he brought it up to aim. It lowered a few inches, then lifted with more determination. His brows were low, eyes wide. His lower jaw was firmly set forward against what he knew had to be done. Again he lowered his gun, brought it up once more. Fingered the trigger.

Aurelie did not blink.

He was unable to do it. He'd fired upon a flower. He would not fire at an angel.

As his gun fell to his side, he took a deep breath and left her eyes. Aurelie watched him look down upon her husband as his shoulders sagged.

"Yes," he said softly. "Vive la France."

Her lids gently closed.

When they opened again, she was ready.

And without looking back, she stepped forward. Walked freely by the soldier who was still unable to tear his eyes away from what he had done, something he would regret until his last breath.

Many men had scaled the hole that had once been the spiral staircase. These cowards had needed a leg up from their ranks and still struggled with the climb. They had struggled further with the descent.

Not Aurelie.

Aurelie floated down the hole in the palm of God, the lord gently depositing her on the first floor. From there, she walked through the café until she was just outside the door.

It's impossible to say how much time passes when the observer perceives a stand still. She was not waiting for anything; she was not struck in a state of stasis. She was, however, a statue in posture and pose, her face revealing no secret. Not a muscle twitched and her eyes had cried their last tears, the moisture evaporating from her skin, the salt caking her cheeks and chin.

She was the bravery of Joan of Arc, the marble of Aspasia, the blood of Artemesia of Caria, the beauty of Aphrodite, the soldier of Margaret Corbin, the virtue of Veturia, the tragedy of Cleopatra, the wrath of Boudica, the fury of Palden Lhamo.

With the death of Enjolras, she was the White Lady.

Through her unborn child, she was the Virgin Mary.

She was all these women combined in the form of an Angel named Aurelie.

There are many things we cannot understand in this world, as no explanation can possibly be offered. There is no explaining how every single man on this street stopped to look at her. It cannot be known why they did not fire upon her. It's impossible to say why they backed away.

The explanation we can give is that these men were stunned by the light, but felt the darkness. It's not enough, as Aurelie did not actually have a visible glow. But it was perceived as such, feeling very real to those who took her in. Their mouths gaped, their heads fell. Their shoulders slumped, their knees weakened.

Aurelie was judging them all without meeting an eye. She stood still for a very long time; it took an inhale of breath before she was in motion again.

The position of her head did not waiver as she walked the street, which had been swarmed by the National Guard. They had the jobs of macabre janitors here, clearing bodies. So many bodies, most their own. They'd lost a hundred here whereas thirty had sufficed in taking them down. It was dark and dismal, the street filled with rubble and splinters from the barricade. Bullets, cannonballs, spent weaponry, broken glass, scraps of fabric.

So much blood.

This had no effect on Aurelie. Glass she walked upon did not crunch, wood did not creak, bullets did not chime, blood did not slosh. Her footsteps did not make a sound. She skimmed inches above everything. It's quite impossible to fall when nothing touches your shoes, impossible to trip when your feet have not moved.

No, there is no explanation sufficient for this standstill in time, but it was felt by every soul on the street.

They only watched an angel take wing in the rays of the sun as she floated by. They watched this woman drift with poise and pride, even parting to allow her passage.

All lowered their guns to their sides, and didn't know what had hit them until she was gone. They were too dumbstruck to even return to duty, to look to each other in wonder of what had just happened. Their eyes remained trained down the empty street where she had disappeared without even rounding a corner.

Many spoke in whispers later of the haunting: a ghost that had slowly sailed by. They could not recall if it had been a dream or a reality. They mentioned that she shined like an angel of god whilst shivering over the phantom as they lined up the bodies on the sidewalk, side by side.

Upstairs, the soldier had not moved.

A muscle did not twitch.

Not until a man climbed up the hole and ran by him in a panic. He was shoved to the side, and the man dove toward the bodies of Grantaire and Enjolras.

Still recovering from nearly falling to the ground, the soldier watched this man take to his knees frantically, paying no mind to the fact that a guardsmen with a gun stood behind him.

After touching each, he turned to the soldier. He had hate in his eyes, and the soldier feared this man nearly as much as the woman before him.

"You will aid me in taking him away," the man demanded, pointing at the flower.

The guardsman dropped his gun to the floorboards and nodded.

The Days that Followed

She had not died, though her life had ended. Upon rounding the corner at the end of rue Saint-Martin, Aurelie walked—rather, she floated—onward. She roamed the streets through the night. Everyone saw her, she saw no one. She haunted Paris. She did not need to weave through the armies marching the streets; they parted like the red sea.

The angel paid visit to all fallen barricades.

Oddly, one National Guard raised his hand to his forehead in salute, then had no idea why he'd done such a thing. Many pressed their palms together in prayer, feeling a presence of God. The others could not take their eyes from her, too struck to move. No one knew she was dressed in the clothes of a boy. No one noticed that blood covered her clothes, her hands, her face. What they saw was a woman in white with a gold halo of hair that fell across her shoulders and down her back.

Then they forgot even that, left wondering how time could stop. Left wondering if they'd hallucinated.

For twenty-four hours she walked. Twenty-four hours of vacancy, not a thought in her head. No joy, no grief. No agreeability, no anger. No alertness, no lethargy.

Exactly twenty-four hours to the minute she was back on rue Saint-Martin staring up at the Café Musain.

The mess of the shattered barricade was nearly gone, the bodies having been taken elsewhere. People were still cleaning the streets, picking up wood and cobblestones and placing them in piles; new barricades, only these were waist high and strewn on the sidewalk. But it seemed all that was left as a reminder that anything had taken place on June 6th was the destruction of the tavern. Bricks were missing, not one window held a pane.

Inside, many men were working on rebuilding the staircase, patching mortar, replacing windows. While she had been noticed by all, no one could identify her, and they turned back to their work with a shiver in their spines.

It was only upon leaving that she bumped into the Widow Huchloup, who still didn't recognize her.

"Excuse me, Mademoiselle," she said, staring into vacant eyes of a woman who seemed to mirror herself, though she could not place exactly why.

"Pardon, Madame," Aurelie said, then continued on.

Just then, it struck the widow who had passed. And she gaped as she no longer saw a lovely woman in white; she saw a blood soaked woman in trousers.

"Mademoiselle Aurelie?"

Turning back, Aurelie nodded her head. "Yes, Madame."

Not knowing why, the widow's chin began to tremble, her eyes filling with moisture. And not knowing why, she said the first name that popped into her head.

"Enjolras . . ."

This word left her mouth as though she'd been possessed, and she covered it with her hand asking God to save her soul.

"I know."

It was then that Widow Huchloup observed as a whole everything that had once gone ignored. The many times Aurelie and Enjolras had been spotted together. The way they had looked at each other, the way they hid it. The likeness of two extraordinary beings that could only be whole with the other. The widow then saw her younger self.

"They took everyone away to Pere Lachaise. You have two more days to claim him," she said desperately, then began to weep. "After that, everyone goes into a pauper's grave."

Aurelie did not blink.

"Thank you."

This was the only reason Aurelie entered her apartment. Once there, she was perplexed as to why she'd come up here at all, but she did not hurry. She had not come back for anything, but it was because of the widow's words that she removed her money from the wall, possessed by an unknown event that only time would reveal.

Picked up on her way out was the crème dress she'd worn for her wedding.

That night she'd made her way to Enjolras' apartment. She had sat on the bed for a long time, twisting the chain around her neck between her forefinger and thumb. He was all around her, but she saw nothing. She only felt him, as she'd been able to, always.

Her sleep was not even restless. A serenity had taken over, and she slept deeply without a dream. It's important to explain that every motion Aurelie made was deliberate and slow. Her head never fell, her shoulders never slumped. She did not smile nor frown; she maintained a hollow composure. Her wounded arm was tended to with great care and without a hint of a wince. It did not disconcert her as she bathed that the water turned red from the blood that remained on her arms and hands. It was as though she'd already seen that the water was red when she ran the sponge over herself and, instead of leaving a stain on her skin, the blood was turning to water.

At noon on June 8th, Aurelie took to Pere Lachaise. A few carriages were parked; a few hearses to take loved ones to family plots that were not located here. Most could not afford such a place.

Inside the building were many officials tasked with the job of escorting the bereaved through the hundreds of bodies lined up behind, then going through any necessary paperwork and collecting the fees. The undertakers here hovered behind as they let these officials go through the steps. From there, if any wished for a funeral, they handled the arrangements. They did not speak to anyone who didn't appear to have wealth, as the plots here were for the wealthy only.

Aurelie did not notice how the officials argued who would take her out back.

"I just returned, you take her."

"I need to finish filing this, she's yours."

"I'm heading to lunch."

They shirked behind one another, one even crossing himself as he gaped.

The strongest of them, the most unaffected by the death, the one who was intrepid and immune to the world, the one who never had any sympathy and regularly sinned with booze and mistresses: even he did not want to take her.

"You'll owe me for this one," he finally grumbled, gazing at the workers with disdain.

"I've come to claim my husband," Aurelie told the official who had reluctantly stepped forward. "Here is my marriage certificate."

The official took it from her and studied it.

"The Enjolras family was here this morning already," he said.

Aurelie felt her heart sink, but she nodded. At least he had been taken care of.

"You will let me walk through regardless," she stated strongly.

The man rolled his eyes and sighed.

"As you wish," he responded flippantly, then bid her to follow.

And he looked to her once outside to see how Aurelie would react upon the rows of bodies with a sort of sneer, daring her to fall apart.

She did not.

"Are you not ill?" he asked her. He'd derived a sick sort of pleasure at the horror of others; happy these insurgents had perished quickly and Paris could return to normal. He'd witnessed tears, outbursts and prayers. He'd seen a woman pause earlier just before she vomited, then rushed back inside.

"I am not," Aurelie responded.

He felt as though this woman was undermining the rules and straightened his back, then nodded with his head. "We'll start at the top. Weave through."

The more he followed her, the more confounded he was. He did not know himself in this bewildered and weakened state. When she finally paused, he waited. Waited for her tears. When they did not fall, he gruffly asked, "Is this a brother or something?"

Tilting her head to the side, Aurelie's smile was pensive as she looked upon the bloodied body riddled with bullets.

"No," she said lovingly, then laid a lily over Courfeyrac's breast.

The official's muscles twitched against the skip of a heartbeat. He hated this woman.

Again she paused further down the row, and his question was a little more desperate.

"And this man?"

Aurelie shook her head and laid a lily down on the slashed chest of Combeferre.

By the next row, the official was feeling light headed. She would stop and lay a lily on a body, sometimes speaking terms of endearment as the flower was softly placed.

To Gavroche: "My little monsignor."

To Eponine: "My friend."

To Bossuet: "I'm blushing even now."

To Grantaire: "I drink to you."

It was at the last row that the officials face had become white and he was hardly able to continue standing.

Once at the final body visited, she met his eyes and he wanted to run. Take to a church to repent for his many sins. He internally swore he would never drink again, never gamble again, never visit a whore.

Aurelie smiled at him.

"I am finished here."

The man sucked in a deep breath that created a growl, then turned around, desperate to be done with this.

Once inside, Aurelie walked to the table opposite of where the man had taken a seat. He was livid this woman was not leaving.

"What now?" he demanded. He couldn't pinpoint why he felt so repulsed, but he did feel as though this woman was judging him. That she was seeing every sin he had committed and she would explode with the light of God and he would be sent to hell.

Aurelie retrieved some bills and set them on the table, then placed both hands on either side of the small pile, staring deeply into his eyes.

"I have no relation to any of them," she stated grandly. "But each flower placed is my demand. If any of them are left unclaimed, I claim them and will pay for their burials."

"Mademoiselle, that is quite impos—"

"Madame Enjolras," she corrected him. "And you will do as I say. You answer to wealth. Well, I am very rich. I will return tomorrow to pay the fees and purchase plots."

He gulped. Trembled. Recognized that in her judgment, she was sentencing him to an eternity of misery.

"Yes, Madame," he responded.

Aurelie bowed her head, then smiled pensively. Softly.

"I thank you for your time," she said. "I will return tomorrow at noon."

This was how Aurelie buried seven men. Seven men, one woman, and one child.

They were buried side by side in a row at the majestic Pere Lachaise cemetery, it having taken every last cent she had left to pay for their plots. She had planned who would lie by whom: Courfeyrac beside Gavroche, Gavroche by his sister Eponine. Bossuet by his drinking mate Grantaire.

Perhaps if she ever came to life, she would track down his family and find Enjolras. But knowing he had been taken care relieved a weight. She would not have visited his grave anyway. Enjolras properly buried with respect was all she had come for, and that was enough.

* * *

Life after Death

In late August, Aurelie was five months into her pregnancy. She glowed the way only women with child can, though her soul was still hollow. It was the juxtaposition of the two that left people around her so stunned, unable to comprehend what they were talking to, not whom.

It had taken time, but Aurelie had settled into the apartment on the Saint Michel side of the Le Seine, but she never travelled south. Each day she walked the Pont Marie Bridge into Bastille, be it for her job in a boutique or an errand for daily living. She may live in Saint Michel, but she refused to be anywhere nearer to rue Saint-Martin than she already was.

But she had not left. While she may not go near it, she would not stray far. It was a place to be remembered, if only by proximity _to_ instead of proximity _in_.

Indeed, she was still quite broken. She had not cried since she'd left the tavern on June 6th, though did not behave as a woman in denial or shock. Instead her soul had hollowed leaving behind an empty shell. She did not want to die, even if Honore was not a part of her future, as she felt a need to continue on so the dead would live in her memories.

They resided inside of her.

Though she'd already lived two lives and was currently in the purgatory before her third, she carried herself with poise. She was reserved, speaking very little. But she'd smile at everyone, which brightened their day. For some reason, everyone was drawn to her, but this did not make her immune to whispers and speculations, especially from the women she worked with in the boutique:

"There's a sadness in her eyes, despite how she shines," one had whispered.

"There are times I cannot bear to look at her, and other times I cannot bear not to," another had said.

The owner had noted: "She has a secret we will never be privy to."

Her young daughter had said: "She's in love with a ghost."

Though her mother had laughed and twirled a curl on her daughter's head in endearment, the little thirteen year-old was the most perceptive in a way only a child can be.

Gavroche had once told Aurelie that it was the little ones who saw the world right. That the older people got, the more they refused to see the world. He'd said: they may be older but they sure get stupid.

Outside of a bimonthly visit from a physician, no one ever entered her apartment. Every two weeks a doctor came to check on her pregnancy. He was the only one who entered the apartment and had noticed the men's clothes. Because this girl was too sweet, he knew she was widowed, but never asked her of it. He loved her as if she was his daughter, but he would leave each time with chills running down his spine.

This doctor never tended to her wound, as Aurelie would never let it be shown. Her arm was weak, but she kept up the façade that she felt no pain. The scab had flaked away, the scar a private treasure. Every night she would strip down and admire it, a brand on her body to remind her forever what she'd suffered.

Aurelie could no longer wear her corsets from before. Her little bump had fought fiercely two weeks ago, so she'd purchased a maternity corset that widened around her belly. She had no inheritance left, and dressed now in brighter colors with lace and ruffles.

There were two reasons for her change in attire. She now worked at a boutique in Bastille that sold fine clothes to the middle class, taken because she would not cross the line into Saint Michel. And with the death she had suffered, she needed the pastels to force herself to live.

She kept to herself and offered no details of her life. The women in the shop would ask her manipulative questions to try and evoke her story from her lips:

"Where did you work before you came here?"

"I did not work."

"How did you have money?"

"I have no money."

"Where did you grow up?"

"Where I live."

"And you have no one?"

"Not here."

Aurelie had yet to write to her brother, could not bring herself to do it. Many letters were started at Enjolras' desk and quickly abandoned. How does one write of tragedy? How does one convey the gravity of a situation properly, especially one who does not share emotions? Each letter began with the facts of it all, then was given up so that her brother— her brother who knew her better than anyone save for Enjolras—would be unable to read between any lines.

She had moved forward and could not suffer anyone from the life she'd lived before. And with her residing in Enjolras' apartment, he had no chance of finding her.

Aurelie arrived at the boutique the morning of August 27th; a hot day with the sun welcoming all into its warmth and comfort. It was the first day noted with a date attached to it, and along her way she had heard that birds still sing their songs, that flowers indeed bloom, that people can be kind to each other instead of just to her. She had noticed her dress today, whereas normally she put something on and ignored the color and design. It was a light yellow, and she noted briefly that it was lovely.

And as a bird can view the world, Aurelie was finally able to see the little joys from afar, even though they did not reach her soul.

Inside the shop, she said the first good morning and not the other way around.

But her life only extended this far. And everything she had noticed was forgotten once more as though it had all been a dream the second she placed her hand against her belly. The birth of Honore was all she had to look forward to, and when she felt his gentle kick in her stomach, the world returned to a state of white and black. Aurelie returned to her state of death, going through the motions of life and nothing more.

The girl she worked with this morning, Pauline, said to her: "You look very well this morning, Aurelie."

Her smile always sweet, Aurelie set her handbag down behind the desk. "Why thank you, Pauline. How nice of you to say."

Pauline, the young woman who had noted Aurelie's sadness in the past, had craved a friendship with Aurelie. She was a sweet girl a few years younger than Aurelie, if not a bit naïve. She had a love of life and its beauties, and while Aurelie's presence made her heart hurt for an unknown reason, she had hoped that after some time she'd finally understand the beautiful woman who held what she knew had to be dark secrets.

"You must have slept well," she said, always attempting conversations with Aurelie.

And never a disappointment to anyone she came into contact with, Aurelie nodded, maintaining her smile. "I did, thank you. Is that a new dress you are wearing?"

Pauline blushed, gripping the skirt at her hips. "You noticed!"

"Of course I did," Aurelie responded. "It's impossible not to notice a beautiful girl who is happy."

Grinning sheepishly, Pauline spun around. "I keep seeing this man," she whispered, blushing. "He walks this street every now and again. Do you think he'd notice me in this?"

"I've no doubt of it," Aurelie said, a girl in love never glossed over. Pauline was most certainly taken by a mysterious stranger and absolutely smitten. Aurelie knew these things; she knew the look of a woman in love, she'd seen it in her mirror long ago.

"Do you have any lovers, Aurelie?"

Turning to a rack, Aurelie began to straighten out the dresses for when they would open the shop. "I do not," she said softly.

"Now that can't be," Pauline said, sidling up beside her to offer her assistance. "You are too beautiful. Men must swoon in your presence. I would do anything to have your beauty."

"How you can think you don't already have beauty is incomprehensible," Aurelie responded lightly, adding in an airy laugh. She thought fondly of Bossuet just then. Pauline was a lovely sparrow, and Aurelie had been right the night she'd spoken to him nearly two years ago. She was no swan. She was a crow.

"Aurelie," Pauline said tentatively, removing her hand from the dress she had just moved. She was feeling bolder this morning, perhaps because this particular morning Aurelie did not seem so untouchable. Nothing had changed; their interactions had always been pleasant.

Raising a brow, Aurelie glanced over and met her eyes.

"Why don't you talk about yourself?"

This was the first time it had been asked outright, and Aurelie's lips parted for a second with her life story on her tongue before shutting them.

"There is nothing to be said, Pauline," she responded. "I live a very uninteresting life."

"I know that cannot be true, you are too lovely," Pauline cried, dismayed. Though Aurelie never offered anything, Pauline had always known instinctively that Aurelie led a life of secrets, and secrets were always the very most interesting of lives led.

Aurelie was an enigma to all.

"Let us open for the day," Aurelie said as a misdirect, then walked over to the door and turned the sign, unlatching the lock.

So today was not the day, and Pauline accepted this. Someday . . . someday she'd make Aurelie share the life she lived. She would not press the issues, they would be approached slowly and delicately. Pauline would not push her with excessive questions. But today had been a changing point that was felt inherently in Pauline, and she hoped very much that they were on their way to a friendship.

Pauline sat down to sew up a dress that had a split seem while Aurelie wandered the shop, creating obsessively perfect order.

While Aurelie left through the alley to pick up their lunch, the bell above the door rang. Pauline set aside her work and rose from the desk, then halted as though the world had stopped turning.

The man who had entered stole her breath away; he was far and above the most beautiful man she had ever laid eyes on. Carrying himself well and with strength, he was gazing around the shop, though unfocused on everything around him. Beneath his poise, he held timidity and uncertainty, and Pauline noticed him swallow heavily.

Her heart sped as she approached him, feeling as though a magnet was pulling her without ever having moved, though she dared not get too near. She could not pinpoint what he was thinking. His eyes were wise and vacant together, his face revealing nothing, but she felt behind the mask that he had the depth of the ocean. Men rarely entered their shop; only upon the arm of a woman or to purchase a gift. The way he looked around did not appear to hold any interest in the fineries here, though Pauline could tell he was noticing his surroundings. She mindlessly cupped the back of her hair to be sure her pins were in place.

Her words exited as a stutter:

"Monsieur, what can I do for you today?" she asked. Oh, how stunning he was.

The man briefly inclined his head. "Mam'selle, I am hoping you can help me find someone."

Without knowing why, Aurelie froze half in motion as she reached for the knob to the back door. Her blood went cold, her body chilled. She shook her head, trying to return to the moment, but found herself unable to form a coherent thought. She had become a pillar of stone: her hands would not move hard as she tried, her muscles rigid.

It took a moment to reconcile what was going on, and once she pinpointed it, she shuddered. There is a saying for such a feeling: _Someone has just walked over your grave_. This was life and death at once, and it had come from nowhere.

It had been a long time since she'd felt him, as she'd been able to feel him before, always. Nearly three months had passed and it had not once been felt, yet for a second there, it had been present.

In a very different way. Before, when she would feel him, she felt warmth and sunlight. This was cold and frightening, only because she knew he was dead. Sunlight cannot break through darkness when time has stopped and the world no longer turns.

She was feeling his ghost.

This was no doubt a dizzy spell, and she rushed in the door and through their office to deliver Pauline's lunch, where she would explain that she needed to shut herself in the back room until she was feeling better.

But upon entering the expanse of the shop, Aurelie came to an abrupt halt. Her eyes were always drawn to the focal point of her world, and her brain refused to accept what her eyes were viewing.

Pauline studied the man as he went rigid, no longer looking at her, and she regretted losing those eyes; they were too deep and she had fallen into their crevasse. Impossibly, her racing heart sped up once more, only this time it was because something overwhelming was taking place, and she did not know what.

But she saw the corners of his mouth infinitesimally creep up. He did not smile, but he did swallow, which was apparent through the bob of his adam's apple in his throat. She recognized that she had been forgotten and followed his gaze to find Aurelie frozen across the span of the room.

Her eyes rapidly flicked between them as she backed up until her feet caught the rack behind her. Having always been unable to comprehend the depth of Aurelie while desperately trying to grasp it, this man somehow echoed her depth. It was terrifying and extraordinary.

Breath held, Aurelie did not blink. She could not fathom this aberration she'd now entered.

"No," she whispered.

She'd gone mad. The thought of this descent into madness was apparent and she felt it only natural after everything, yet still she knew that was not the case. Perhaps it was her hope that she was finally lost forever, and if this is what it meant, it was welcomed.

She had been floating as a ghost for months, and did here as she drew nearer. Not once did she leave his eyes, not once did she blink.

Pauline was struck breathless and watching something she felt she would speak of for the rest of her life, even though nothing had even happened. Time had stopped in this boutique, and no one was sure if it would ever resume.

Reaching with her hand, Aurelie touched the cheek of the man, and as she did this, he leaned his head against her palm with a hint of a smile.

"This cannot be . . ." she whispered, staring deeply into his eyes. She felt skin; her hand had not floated through an apparition.

Raising his hand to meet hers, he gently urged it over until he was able to place his lips against her palm. He kissed it, then slid her hand down until it came to a rest on his heart. There, he held her hand to him.

"Do you feel it?" he asked quietly.

His heartbeat. It was magnanimous.

"I do," she said, her eyes large and locked in his.

The corners of his mouth rose infinitesimally higher.

"It belongs to you," he told her. "It always has. Seems that not even an army can keep it from beating for you."

Aurelie shook her head, just as infinitesimally. "I am dreaming."

This was a genuine fear. There was no other way.

"I have dreamed of nothing else," he said. He then stepped closer to her until his body was against her length while keeping his hand over hers. He would not allow it to stray from his heart. "And now I cannot decide if it is still a dream or if I'm in heaven."

Together, no world existed around them. They did not know Pauline was hypnotized by what was happening, unwittingly seeing love for the first time in her life. They did not know they were in the shop, their feet did not touch the ground.

"I believe this may be heaven," Aurelie said. "I died months ago. Lived in purgatory. Are we in heaven?"

He leaned forward until his forehead pressed against hers.

"Does it matter where we are if we are together?" he whispered.

Aurelie exhaled. "No, Enjolras. It does not matter."

And just as she let her lids cover her eyes, she met his lips.

It did not matter where they were. They were, impossibly, together.


	16. Book Sixteen: How it Came to Pass

**BOOK SIXTEEN:**

**How it Came to Pass**

* * *

To Follow a Premonition

_On June 6__th__, Benoit entered the city limits of Paris. He had ridden alone by horseback the entire journey, only pausing for a few hours of sleep at a time. When the horse he'd began his journey with gave up on him, he traded his with a man at a stable, paying him an extra fee to cover his urgency. _

_It was not Aurelie who had written him of the death of Lamarque. Not Enjolras. In fact, when he'd heard the news at the local tavern in Mondour, it had been through the mouth of the barkeep two days later as word slowly spread through the land. He'd mourned the loss and sent his prayers to every citizen in France, knowing this meant all hope was lost. A bottle of wine was consumed as he toasted to Lamarque. Toasted to Enjolras and his friends; their inevitable war. He toasted his strong-willed sister and wistfully regretted his absence. He then left the tavern that night and fell to sleep with ease, albeit melancholy._

_However, his night was spent in terrors. _

_He was behind a barricade in Saint Michel near the Café Musain, though he was a spectator, not a participant. Around the barricade, his dearest friends with muskets aimed down the street. Atop, Enjolras with a flag in one hand, a pistol in the other. Below men loaded their weapons to replace those spent. The scene was as exhilarating as Benoit had expected, and he was proud of the efforts. _

_On a second glance, the man below Enjolras became Aurelie; her golden hair falling in curls over her shoulders and down her back. She loaded a musket and handed it up to Enjolras, and he'd expected nothing less of his headstrong sister. _

_Beside her was a second Enjolras, this one pulling at her arm, and Benoit was confounded, trying to understand what was happening. The Enjolras atop the barricade fought on, Aurelie handed him weapons, Enjolras beside her attempting to drag her away without her paying any notice to his hold. _

_This continued for some time. Long enough for Benoit to see his friends killed, and the blood ran so thick on the pavement that it became an ocean's tide at his feet. Still Enjolras fought, still Aurelie loaded, still Enjolras tried to pull her away._

_As this went on, the smiling, mocking Enjolras with his pistol became brighter as the one pulling at Aurelie began to fade, growing paler with each attempt made. _

_Atop the barricade, a bullet hit Enjolras' head, followed by another three to his chest in rapid succession. He toppled down the barricade until he lay dead at Aurelie's feet._

_Aurelie rose as she dropped the musket she'd been loading, no longer having a job to perform and indifferent to this end, but did not pause there. She continued to rise, floating upward. The Enjolras who had been dragging her did not float, however. He sunk. Fell down in a heap with his hand reaching for her as she rose, his mouth open in anguish._

_Benoit awoke with a start. Without a stretch, he leapt from his bed and dressed: the clothes his finest so he appeared as a nobleman; someone with great prestige. He did not eat breakfast, only explained that he needed to get to Paris at once. That he felt Aurelie was in grave danger and the worry in his face left his family conceding to this without question._

_He was on his horse within an hour._

_National Guards and the Parisian Army speckled Paris like a pox when he arrived. He had ridden through the night, had swapped a horse before the sun had risen, bathed and put his father's medals upon his clean set of noblemen's clothes. And now in the city limits, he slowed and changed his posture. His muscles ached with a burning vengeance, but he managed to upright himself so no one dare address him as anything less than a man with a title. And as he slowly trotted through the streets, he witnessed the horrors of the riot._

_Shattered glass, little fires, bloodied men, interrogations and beatings. _

_He innately knew to be careful through Bastille, and his suspicion was confirmed as he rode between generals and politicians who filled the square. They saluted him as he rode by, assuming from his attire that he was a Baron or Viscount in good standing. They asked no questions, as people did not question nobility, not even generals. _

_He then crossed the Pont Marie Bridge to Saint Michel._

_Benoit was a man of incredible fortitude and wit. Well-bred and careful with words in the right circumstances to uphold a family standard of lineage. Blond headed, a trait of his family, and intense blue eyes with porcelain skin. A prince charming to women, title or none. A dedicated learner during the day and a playful boy come nightfall. He was a brilliant man, clinical in thought and practice. Perceptive to a point of scrutiny with a large heart. He fought death while working on the gravest of afflictions in men and women, and maintained a bedside manner that was unheard of with doctors. He once saw a child with a yellowed arm of puss and had not blanched as he amputated the limb to save the girl's life. He was a man who understood necessity, which forced him to be conservative._

_This man had seen it all and had prepared for the worst. But upon rounding the corner, his stomach turned upon seeing the blood flooding the cobblestones; the many men dead. Gulping, he steadied himself before pressing onward. While he wanted to rush, find what had come of his sister, he needed to maintain the guise that he was a man of great importance as he rode past the guardsmen, who were cleaning up their mess._

_He had to work not to close his eyes upon seeing those he loved carried by guardsmen and lined up in a row, their final breath having left them within the last few hours. The interesting thought that struck him as he did this was: _I must try to be as intrepid as Aurelie.

_And so he took up her personage internally. He determined in one second the way he must behave and put it into action in the next. Instead of bowing his head in respect to the mutilated Combeferre on the pavement, he kept his chin up, his features austere. Instead of thinking he should explain his presence, he assumed a posture that stated no explanation was required. Instead of leaping from his horse to doctor those wounded on the pavement, he slowly rose at the café door and deliberately swung a leg over until he was on his feet. _

_This was the first time he understood Aurelie. How she could appear as marble with a torrent of emotion coursing through her soul. He was emulating her to a point of perfection, as was necessary. And because of his actions, he was not even saluted as he had been in Bastille. _

_He was untouchable._

_Once inside the café, he took in the destruction and saw every move made. This was indeed where they had rushed when the barricade had been overtook. There were many bodies of National Guardsmen, and when he looked up to the second floor through the hole that had once held a spiral staircase, he knew he himself would have ordered the men to rush here for a last stand. _

_Without further ado, he placed a boot on a broken board jutting from the wall and heaved himself upward._

_On the second floor, a soldier stood with his back toward him. This man had not even noticed anything was happening behind. His shoulders were slumped, his head hanging low. And he was looking down upon two bodies._

_Grantaire and Enjolras. _

_The doctor in Benoit took over and he rushed to them, pushing by the soldier who gave no protest, made no reaction whatsoever. Benoit fell to his knees between them and placed his fingers against Grantaire's neck. Many bullets had entered this man's chest, though he was not as bloodied as Enjolras._

_He hoped there was a chance, but Grantaire's heart had stopped and the man was cold. _

_Without a pause, he gave Enjolras the same treatment as he looked him over, saw a bullet had grazed his head above his ear. He noted first that he was warmer to the touch. _

_And he felt life. _

_The heartbeat was slow, but steady. Quickly, he ripped open the buttons of the linen shirt that was so thickened with blood it felt like molasses. Beneath the shirt, three bullets: one in his right shoulder that was rather grave, another at the right of his stomach just above his hip. The third was against his heart, but the metal had only dented the flesh, and while blood was around it, the bullet was behaving as a plug, only half of it lodged into his ribcage._

_Benoit spun around and eyed the guard levelly. _

_"You will aid me in taking him away," he stated firmly with a face one dare not question._

_The soldier swallowed. Dropped his musket to the ground and stepped forward to help this unknown man._

_"He is alive, but not for long," Benoit said while leaning down above Enjolras' head. He began to lift him from under his arms while eying the soldier. "Will you or will you not help me save his life?"_

_Time had stood still for this soldier until this was said. He was sure he was damned for what he had done here to the flower, and if he could do anything to save his life, perhaps God would save his soul. _

_"Where do we go?" the guardsman asked, then instantly leaned down to get a hold of the flower's legs._

_Benoit shook his head. "I do not know," he responded. "But we leave here."_

_Once they had maneuvered him down the pit to the first floor, they again had him in motion until the door._

_"What now?" the soldier asked, eyeing his kinsmen in fear._

_Benoit was losing patience. "Do you not see your comrades carrying bodies? Pull yourself together and follow me."_

_The two men carried Enjolras back behind Mondetour Alley, then wove through another street until they reached the butcher's shop. Benoit did not know where they were headed when he'd set out, but God had led them to the perfect place. Here they would find tools that surgeons could wield, along with products to cleanse and heat to cauterize. _

_He did not think of Aurelie, only knew without a doubt that Enjolras would have saved her before he'd fallen. As headstrong as she could be, as much as she may have put up a fight, Enjolras would have thrown his body in front of any bullet, if he'd even allowed her there long enough for the carnage he'd witnessed the result of. _

_But for Aurelie, he needed to save Enjolras' life._

_The two men broke in and carried him into the back, laying him upon the cold floor. _

_"What can I do?" the soldier asked._

_Benoit turned on his switch; the switch that saved so many lives, and he was in motion to locate tools that could be used. Tossing a piece of terrycloth to the man, he ordered, "Push this against the wound at his stomach until I've returned."_

_It was only a few minutes later that Benoit had all he would need: razor sharp knives, alcohol, string and terrycloth. _

_And with the assistance of the guardsman, he worked until nightfall to bring Enjolras back to life. _

* * *

All We Can Do is Hope

_Benoit had moved Enjolras the following day with the assistance of the guardsman, who still would not leave. _

_On the back of a cart, covered with burlap, Enjolras was relocated to an elderly woman's house in Montparnasse. A year or so ago, Benoit had seen her husband through his death and soothed the old man's pain for two weeks. They'd had no children, and after her husband had passed, the woman had been so grateful for Benoit's care that she'd looked upon him as a son. In turn, Benoit had such sympathy for the lonely woman that, along with Aurelie, they had aided the woman with housework and errands once a week. _

_She was more than happy to take them in, and a room was set up for Enjolras. _

_As for his wounds, he was in terrible shape. Benoit still did not know if he would make it, and Enjolras had not bat an eye for three days. The wound in his shoulder was thought to be the worst until an infection spread at his hip, but even still, this was not the worst of it. Upon studying Enjolras the first night, Benoit had found wounds on his back; cuts from glass, bruises from wood and cobblestone debris and a broken bone near the tail end of his spine._

_The infection could spread and eventually kill. The broken bone could mean spinal-cord injury that would leave him debilitated for the rest of his life, if he made it through at all. _

_These first few days were spent keeping Enjolras drugged with laudanum by forcing it down his throat, along with broth and water through a tube. Theodore, the guardsman who would not leave, insisted Benoit let him help at every turn, and when the man wasn't scheduled for duty, he was here, sleeping no more than a few hours and only when Benoit insisted he rest. _

_During this, he came to know Theodore, as they had little else to do outside of keeping watch and waiting for a change. As Benoit cut away the infection and cauterized with heat, he'd ask Theodore to tell him of his life as a distraction. He needed a diversion to stem away the horrible places his mind was taking him as he imagined the very worst; that Enjolras would be lost to him forever. That Enjolras would be lost to Aurelie. _

_Theodore was a man of twenty-four, having been born the same month and year as Benoit. His hair was the color of a walnut, his eyes the color of almonds. This man had a song in him that could only be heard when he bathed. Should it reach any other ears, he would never leave a stage. Poetry, art, music and dance, all of these things would come as natural as breathing to Theodore if his arrow knew to aim true in these directions. Instead he had lived in Paris all his life, in fact lived in Champs-Elysees with his parents to this day. He had only left the city once on holiday to Le Havre to see the ocean with his own eyes, though had dreams of the British Isles. He'd been raised well; raised to follow in the footsteps of his father and the fathers before as men of the National Guard. This had been his first battle, and he had behaved through it with the very honor instilled by his father. And he firmly believed that if his father had seen this flower, he would be doing the same. Behind the strict training was a gentle soul, and while he would always abide by duty to this great nation, he also firmly believed in abiding to his heart._

_Thusly, he left for his duty to the country every morning and returned to this house in the evening in order to abide to both. _

_It was June 10__th__ that Enjolras showed any sign of consciousness, though no lucidity. He moaned a bit, rambled unintelligible words, then was promptly asleep once more. The infection had been cut away and it was just a matter of waiting for a sign. Either Enjolras would live or he would die, the simple fact of existence. _

_Theodore proved to be more than useful by assisting the elderly woman with errands and making their meals. At night the two men would play cards as they kept watch until the wee hours of the morning._

_"Tell me of your sister," Theodore said one night, knowing already that Benoit had been searching for her during the day while Madame Dufore kept an eye on Enjolras, but he hadn't once spoken of anything other than his search. _

_Benoit's eyes fell to the floor and he took a hefty sip of his wine. "She is unlike any other," he said with a sigh. "She is driven for a woman, though I rarely understand at any given moment what drives her. She's passionate about everything to a point of fault, and it seems now to a point of danger. I've no doubt she was at the barricade until it fell, but she was not at Pere Lachaise, which means she did not die."_

_"She was political, then?"_

_Benoit laughed a dark chuckle. "Very. More than most men, which I suppose is the fault of our father and myself. When I arrived in Paris I would write to her of everything I'd learn. I'm afraid I inflamed opinions she already held instead of protecting her, though Aurelie would never stand for the protection of any man. I suppose she is defiant, but with no negative connotation to the word."_

_"And she is pretty?"_

_"Beautiful," Benoit said, finally meeting Theo's eyes with a smile. "My friends called her a swan while referring to every other woman in Paris as a sparrow, and she indeed is. But she comes with a large headache, which didn't seem to bother any of them. I suppose that's because she was like the rest of us. To any normal man, she would have driven them mad."_

_To this, Theodore chuckled lightly, adoring this girl. If she was anything like her brother, whom he'd come to genuinely like and respect, he wanted a proper introduction once she was found._

_He then gestured with a nod of his head to Enjolras. "Not him, though," Benoit said fondly. "I do know she drove him mad, but only with his love, and only once that I know of. Of course, if she was at the barricade I've no doubt he went insane. And as for Aurelie, he was the only man who ever affected her. The best of us, so it was only natural that they fall in love."_

_For a reason he didn't know, Theodore ended pimpled in goose-bumps. _

_Benoit did not give up his search, he did not give up the fight for Enjolras. On June 11__th__, Enjolras writhed his upper body in the middle of the night, but Theodore held him down while Benoit managed to drug him once more with Laudanum. _

_June 13__th__, Benoit had just taken twenty francs from the man after a streak of luck while playing Faro. They sat back with their wine while laughing._

_"Tell me about this man," Theodore said. "Tell me what he was like before the revolt."_

_Benoit brought his eyes up as he smiled in remembrance. _

_"Both charming and terrifying," Benoit said. "I met him before I began my study of medicine at the university. He went into law to aim his passion in the right direction; toward our government and world. He cared for nothing but injustice and found it everywhere. He was untouchable, yet reached for by every man and woman who ever laid eyes upon him. A man could go on a tirade lasting five minutes and lose the argument with only a sentence from Enjolras' mouth. It was astounding. I've never known anyone like him and if dies now, the world will have suffered one of its greatest losses."_

_A needle in a haystack. Searching Paris was exactly this. Aurelie would not leave the city, he knew she would never run from what had happened. More days passed. More questions of those he knew, more questions of those he didn't. Madame Huchloup had seen her on June 7__th__ and she'd been covered in blood. The apartment they'd once shared had been abandoned, every furnishing no doubt having been donated to the fallen barricade. There had been a board missing from the wall in her bedroom, so he knew she'd had something hidden, hoped it had been their fortune and she was surviving somewhere nearby. _

_On June 16__th__, Benoit and Theodore lit a fire, as it was a chilly night after a day of rain. They sat with their wine and Theodore asked more questions._

_"You are well-bred," Theodore noted. "University aside, you came from more than most. Those clothes you wore were not pilfered from the wealthy, they were your own."_

_"They were," Benoit said. "I grew up the son of a Baron who spoke against the sovereign and had his title stripped. Our land was given to another lord but we kept our wealth. Our name should have been disgraced, but instead we have found it holds more prestige to those who silently speak of the injustices; they're simply too fearful of repercussion should their thoughts be heard. I will say with absolute certainty that if the need for asylum ever came, there is not one family in this land who would shun us."_

_Theodore shrugged with a sigh. "Still no sign of your sister?"_

_Benoit shook his head. "I checked in again at Pere Lachaise. Speaking of all these families who love us still, I began to think that maybe one of them had claimed her and placed her in our family's tomb. But nothing still."_

_On June 17__th__, Theodore and Benoit arrived at the house at the same time. Madame Dufore was finishing with supper, so they took the time before eating to be sure Enjolras was as well as he could be. After inspecting the wounds, Benoit noted to Theodore that he was indeed healing, which was a sign that his body was working properly and moving in the right direction. _

_As he reached for the laudanum in the cabinet, he heard a noise from Enjolras, and both he and Theodore snapped to attention._

_He awoke with Aurelie's name on his lips._

_"Aurelie . . ."_

_Only it didn't sound like her name: the voice was raspy and the sound caught in his throat like a cough. His eyes were shut, but firmly in squints for the first time since he'd been struck down. _

_Benoit dashed to the side of his bed while Theodore went to retrieve some water._

_"Enjolras, brother," Benoit said, gripping his arm. _

_Enjolras' head lolled slightly to the side and he slowly allowed his eyes to open in slats. He tried once more to speak, but it was hoarse. He didn't know where he was, only heard: "Don't try to speak just yet. Theo, water!"_

_"Here," he heard, then felt a hand work its way to the back of his head. Everything was a blur and he did not know if he even existed; he resided in a fog. _

_Benoit worked his head up, and softly said, "Drink for me, Enjolras," then tilted the cup of water to his lips, allowing just a few drops at first. They were choked on, however weakly, but after the initial pour, Enjolras gulped four mouthfuls._

_And he was coming to life. _

_His eyes opened further, now just lightly hooded, and Benoit was coming into focus. Trying to lift his arm proved to be futile; it simply fell to the side off the bed he lay upon. He blinked a few times, attempting to clear the confusion. Swallowed. _

_"Are you in pain?" Benoit asked, reaching for the laudanum he had set now on the bedside table. With his other hand, he brushed Enjolras hair from his eyes. _

_Enjolras infinitesimally shook his head, but using his other hand, he managed to place it upon his chest. There was pain, but it was bearable. He did not want to be drugged._

_"Where are we?" he inquired, his vision clearing each second that passed. Just as he asked this, he recognized Benoit and smiled. "Benoit . . ."_

_"Yes, Enjolras," Benoit replied, then lifted his head again. "More water. Drink."_

_He was able to aid Benoit in raising his head, recovering some movement in his withered limbs. This time he drank far more than before, and when the last drop had entered his mouth, he whispered: "More."_

_Theodore retrieved the cup and went to fill it. Yes, they had saved this flower named Enjolras, but he'd spent weeks in worry that the man would still die. And if he did, God would never forgive him. With this man's life, his soul was saved._

_"You're safe here," Benoit told Enjolras, gently relaxing his grip so his head could rest once more on the pillow. "Can you move much?"_

_Enjolras tried. It began with his fingers, and he achieved more strength as each one wiggled. His arm followed, and this time it did not flop across his chest or off the mattress as quickly. He was able to let it hover, but it exhausted him. When he went to circle his shoulders, he felt a deep pain and winced._

_"Let me give you some laudanum," Benoit said, reaching again for the glass tincture. _

_Enjolras exhaled a burst of air that was one staccato of a chuckle, and he faintly grinned. "You drug me and I'll punch you."_

_Laughing, Benoit let his arm fall to his side. "I'd like to see you try."_

_"Despite what you see, I am a lion of strength," Enjolras responded. _

_"All bark and no bite, my friend," Benoit said, then was handed a full cup of water once more. "Here you are."_

_The water was helping, and Enjolras felt strength return with each drop. "That's enough for now," he said, and he finally held tone in his voice. "Should I be this tired? How long have I slept?"_

_"Two weeks," Theo said, hovering behind where Benoit kneeled. _

_Enjolras raised a brow. "And who would this be?"_

_"My name is Theodore Dupont," he responded, inclining his head. "I'm—"_

_Benoit grinned. "He's the good man who shot you, Enjolras."_

_Perhaps he was too weak to have any strong reaction to this, as these words barely affected him. He just raised his brows and lethargically blinked. "You must work on your aim, Monsieur Dupont."_

_Theodore could do nothing but gape, and he nodded. "Yes, sir."_

_Reaching out, Enjolras was able to get his hand to Benoit's arm. There he clutched the linen so it would not fall. _

_"Benoit," he pleaded. "Where is Aurelie?"_

_Benoit's lips formed an outline of white as he shook his head, devastated that he had not found her yet. He'd hoped Enjolras would know, and the question left liquid metal coursing through his veins._

_"I don't know."_

_If anything was going to wake up Enjolras, this was it, and it forced his eyes wide open. Somehow seeing one of the men who had shot him did not light him aflame, but not knowing Aurelie's safety had him burning. _

_"How?"_

_Shaking his head in sadness and guilt, Benoit responded, "Don't worry about this now. You'll strain yourself when you need to relax and recover . . ."_

_"It is impossible to relax not knowing of her safety," Enjolras responded, and despite the protest of his muscles and the sharp pains in his chest and stomach, he was able to get his hands firmly placed on the mattress to give him enough leverage to raise a few inches. _

_Benoit pushed him back down. _

_"I will find her, Enjolras. I swear it. She's my sister."_

_Swallowing, Enjolras succumbed. He could do nothing now, so it was best he conserve his energy so he could hunt for her sooner rather than later. _

_But his mind would not rest._

_And he felt sick._

_"She is not dead," he asked, then realized the question had come out as a statement. A firm one, and he knew why. He had always been able to feel her, and somehow he was able to feel her now. Always. _

_Rising, Benoit set the cup on the table and pulled over a chair. He bid Theo to do the same, and they sat together side by side before Enjolras, leaning forward in earnest. _

_"Tell me when you last saw her," Benoit asked. _

_The least he could do was paint a picture and hope that the colors would lead him to her. _

_The pain in Enjolras' chest paled in comparison to the torture of losing Aurelie. How he wished he could leap up and search Paris until not one cobblestone was left in place._

_"The barricade," he said after a moment, then wet his cracked lips. His memory was clouded, but pieces were falling together. The problem he struggled with was putting them in the proper order. So he began to name them all, trying to pinpoint which one was the last. _

_"We fought over timing," he said, then shook his head, remembering how off their timing had been that last twenty-four hours. "In the café. She refused to leave." He thought some more, backtracking to what he knew had to be the first. "She was in Bastille," he said after another minute. "I dragged her from Bastille when the riot broke out. Put her in the café." Each detail took a long time to recover, and they were hard to reconcile. "She helped the construction, then I told her to leave for the first time. She would not."_

_"Of course she wouldn't," Benoit sighed with exasperation. He knew how impossible Aurelie could be when she'd made up her mind, though he'd hoped she would have held some self-preservation._

_Enjolras smiled. "You know how many times I tried to kick her out of there?" he asked meekly. It felt like he was remembering another life, if not sharing the memories of one dead. The only reason he was able to smile was knowing with absolution that she was alive. "I'd pull her by her arm and tell her to go the way a master orders a puppy. She'd get that fire in her eyes, you know the one."_

_"Oh yes." Benoit could not help but chuckle through his groan of understanding._

_After clearing his throat, he sighed and continued. "Eponine was the first to die. Aurelie saw it." If Enjolras was capable of crying, remembering the moment they'd held one another at the barricade would have opened the flood gates. "We sang a song. Then she slept."_

_"So she was still there come morning?" Benoit asked, and he hated that he already knew the answer to that. This was where his fear lay: that Aurelie had stayed, and though he'd searched the bodies lined up before they were either claimed or put into a pauper's grave, he still feared her dead. _

_Enjolras nodded. "Yes," he said. "I remember now. Gavroche was shot." He then raised his brows as his lids gently closed. "Benoit, she killed the man who killed Gavroche."_

_Benoit bit his lips fiercely. "Of course she would," he said, and as Enjolras had felt upon witnessing her killing a man, he felt a torrent of emotions wracking him; pride, fear, respect and anger. These were common emotions when applied to Aurelie's actions, as the only predictable element of Aurelie was that she was always unpredictable. _

_"She had finally seen enough with that," Enjolras continued. "I told her to run. She had been dressed as a boy and I threw her cap to the ground so her hair would fall." He remembered it now. "Oh God," he breathed. "I hope she sang."_

_"Wait one second," Theodore said, deep in contemplation. He had talked with Benoit about his search, would ask how it had gone each night as they'd sit around a lantern and talk while playing some sort of game waiting for a change in Enjolras. He had heard the stories of his sister; had laughed and admired this woman, perhaps fallen in love with her from the tales told, though also knew she was claimed by the man they were caring for. _

_But he had not once put her side by side with the woman who had haunted him in that café. The woman who was dressed like a boy with a halo of blond hair._

_He swallowed._

_"I believe I saw her last."_

_Benoit's eyes widened as he whipped his head toward the dark haired man, whom he had become quite close to now. "You never mentioned anything like this!"_

_"I didn't put the two together until now," Theodore explained, then turned to Enjolras. "You say she was dressed as a boy?"_

_Confused and weak as he was, Enjolras nodded earnestly. A bit of horror, a bit of hope._

_Leaping from his chair, Theodore said, "This woman! I found her beside you. Her hair was hidden with how she hovered over you, and I thought she was one of you. I asked her if she was. She—" _

_He exhaled loudly with the awesomeness of the woman who had challenged him, whom he was now absolutely sure was the same strong-willed woman Benoit had spoken of. He should have put it together before; the girl had kissed Enjolras. How stupid he had been, but it was a vision that had been seared into his memory and one he did not like to think of, so he denied it whenever it made its way to the surface. _

_Overwhelmed, a tear fell down his cheek as he looked down at Enjolras. "She turned back to you. I heard her say: You are so loved—"_

_If Enjolras had water to spare in his body, this would have made him cry. Be that as it may, his eyes pricked against the dry air, his chest aching, his throat tightening._

_"—She rose then and told me that she was with you. She was one of you. I've never seen anyone so powerful, save for what I saw in you, Monsieur. I was so stricken that I did not move. She walked by me, and I let her go."_

_"Where?" Benoit cried._

_"I do not know," Theodore said, shaking his head. "But I know this. She made it through the streets alive, and I know this very well. My men—" he coughed; he did not like calling these men his any longer, though he continued his service out of obligation still. "Everyone has spoken of her. She was a ghost to them, or an angel, depending on who you talk to. She was seen throughout Paris that night, Monsieur's. She's a legend among these men now. Not a day goes by that she is not spoken of in whispers through chills."_

_How Enjolras was able to feel pride, he did not know. He was horrified, terrified, frightened and desperate. But he could not be more proud of her bravery, and for the first time in his life, he felt a frenzied need to climb to the rooftops and shout of his love for her to every ear in Paris. She should have never been a secret, and when they found her, which he knew they would, she would never be a secret again._

_"This doesn't help us," Benoit said while slumping back against his chair. "All this is good, terrible as it is. But it does not lead us to her."_

_"And you checked my apartment?" Enjolras pleaded._

_Benoit held his breath._

_"Because if she was not home, she could be working," he continued. "I've no doubt she's close. I can feel her, and I know she would not leave. She must be work—"_

_Benoit palmed his forehead. "Why . . ." he began, then slid his fingers down his face. It was the most obvious and the least expected. "I did not check your apartment. Do you believe that's where she went?"_

_Enjolras shook his head in bewilderment. "You didn't look for her there?" he asked, and it was more of a demand. If he had the muscle, he would have hit Benoit for being so stupid. _

_"Why would I?" Benoit asked defensively, though he absolutely should have. She had loved him so very much, perhaps she would have wanted to be where she could remember him. Stay surrounded by his ghost, as she no doubt thought him dead._

_A soft smile crept across Enjolras' lips. _

_"I married her," he stated wistfully. "Therefore she carries my name."_

_Not much could shock Benoit when it came to Enjolras and his sister, but this one did. He'd dealt with their stubbornness and greatness for long enough that anything they said was so unexpected that it was normal. It was when they said something expected that he had worried. But never once did he think Enjolras would marry her. They were nothing but unconventional, and marriage only suited the conventional. _

_He rose and scooped up his jacket, though it was quite late._

_"When I've returned, you will tell me how that came to pass," he said to Enjolras, sliding into the sleeves. "But I'm leaving now. God, I hope you're right."_

_Enjolras swallowed. "Do not bring her here," he said, one of the more difficult proclamations he'd ever made. He badly needed her, but would not allow her to see the state he was in. Perhaps in a few days when he had regained some semblance of strength, but he was in more pain than he felt he could confess to. Until he was sure of himself, he could not bear to have her near; she most certainly believed him dead if she was not here and he would not make her suffer another death, should he not survive._

_Oddly, Benoit had agreed with this before Enjolras had demanded it. His intention was simply to see if Aurelie could be located there, but until they were sure of Enjolras' recovery, he didn't dare bring his sister near him. The possibility Aurelie was safely living in Enjolras' apartment had distracted Benoit from his duty to give Enjolras the full checkup, but that could be done when he returned. Neither were going anywhere, however his need to know of Aurelie's wellbeing outweighed everything._

_He was relieved he wouldn't be denying Enjolras her presence, relieved it had gone the other way around._

_"I won't," Benoit said, but raised a questioning brow. "But why do you say that?"_

_Enjolras was not ready to tell Benoit that he felt there was something wrong; that he hadn't been able to wiggle his toes. That the simple act of speaking was a struggle, and that his actions since he awoke were riddled with feigned lucidity. That he did in fact need pain medication, he did not feel he could bear how the pain consumed him. _

_But he would because he had to. He would still fight, as he had Aurelie and their child to live for. God was giving him a second chance, and it must be taken despite his guilt that he had lived and his men had died. _

_"She no doubt believes me dead," he finally said. "Until we are sure I will not be, I want her moving on."_

_"Then let's not trouble her until you are ready," Benoit said, then left to find his sister._

_An hour later, he arrived at Enjolras' apartment. And through the window, he saw a light. He did not need to peer inside to know she was there, but did anyways. _

_His beautiful sister was balled upon the top of the blankets on the bed reading a book. And he smiled._

_He would not trouble her tonight. He knew he should. Knew Enjolras needed her as she needed him. But it would be better to deliver him in one piece to her, because if he failed to recover fully, he knew she could not take his second death; she would kill herself. _

_And so he returned with the good news, receiving a cheer from Theodore and a relived smile from Enjolras. _

* * *

When the Time Comes

_The weeks that followed were a trial for everyone. Enjolras refused any and all pain medication, insisting he remain alert and fully functioning at all times to aid his recovery. Choosing to remain in pain coupled with overworking his muscles, the result was irritability and frustration, their aim: the men who tried to help him. Protests made by Benoit were met with harsh words, assistance offered by Theodore was met with a shrug away. _

_But with the dark of evening, Enjolras would relax, having forgotten how angered he'd get by their coddling and the three would enjoy conversations into the middle of the night. _

_In these first few weeks, Enjolras refused to speak of three things: The barricade, the death of his friends, and Aurelie. Politics were still discussed ad nauseam, but removed from what had transpired in those early days of June. Philosophies were shared, current events were not. History was remembered, the future idealized, the present was not on the agenda. Benoit and Theodore waited for questions of the barricade, the news that had followed, and even planned alone how these conversations would be addressed and handled. Enjolras did not ask. _

_As for his refusal to speak of Aurelie, this was not an outright demand that she be left off the table. Benoit would not bring her up until Enjolras was well, Enjolras felt too much guilt to speak of her, and Theodore felt he had no place to utter her name. _

_While not at the house tending to Enjolras, but now knowing full well where Aurelie was, Benoit stalked his sister. He learned where she worked and would walk by at least twice a day, interested in her wellbeing and routine. He learned her schedule down to the tiniest detail: in the mornings she made herself tea and eggs, lunch was generally purchased and shared at the shoppe, and dinner was alone at her kitchen table. She worked Tuesday through Saturday, though had every other Thursday free. On the days she did not work, she would shop early for anything she required, then spend the afternoon with a book. _

_Benoit studied his sister, her routines lonely and sad. She appeared no different than he'd ever seen her from afar; had he glimpsed her from down the street he'd have thought nothing was amiss. She carried herself the way she'd been raised: chin up, eyes forward, shoulders straight, back rigid. She greeted people with the same sweet smile that so many had fallen in love with. She was still beautiful, unknowingly gawked at by men she passed, able to draw attention without meaning to. She was not lively, but she was not dead. Life was continuing on for Aurelie, and Benoit was relieved she was managing it at all._

_But he knew. Through all her routines, there was one that haunted him; the one that gave her away should anyone ever see her like this. It made him sick in both his heart and stomach to even think of what must be coursing through her head during the one routine she did nightly, though he had made a decision to never witness it again after the first few nights of seeing it. _

_Every night after cleaning the kitchen, Aurelie would walk into the bedroom and strip down to her chemise. She would then sit at the edge of the bed with her bare toes on the floor. Benoit believed it was the only time in his life he'd ever seen her chin tuck into her neck as her head would tilt down. There she would twist a gold chain around her neck for a very long time. All that could be seen in this state of stillness was the rise and fall of her chest with even breaths. _

_She did not even blink. _

_No, after four nights of seeing her like this before she slept, Benoit refused to spy on her after she'd finished dinner. Simply thinking of her like this gave him a chill down his spine. _

_It was the eye contact that conveyed all that needed to be said on Benoit's returns to Enjolras. In a few seconds, Benoit assured Enjolras she was nearby, Enjolras questioned if she was well, Benoit's mouth would twitch, and Enjolras would nod that he understood what he had done to her. That he would never forgive himself for the damage he'd inflicted._

_He thought of nothing but her, even while entangled in debates of ideals. She was his driving force, all he had to live for, and when the lanterns were snuffed, he would lie awake and torment himself with the 'what if's' as though they mattered, which we, of course, know they do not. Even this man knew they did not matter; they had never once mattered until now, as the question of 'what if' is useless. Yet guilt-ridden, Enjolras for hours upon hours indulged the question._

_What if he had died? What if Honore wasn't a part of their future? What if he had left the barricade with her? What if he had never entered Bastille? What if he'd married her and ran away? What if they'd never made eye conta—_

_There he would halt. As he could not imagine a life without her, he would not 'what if' their entwined souls. This question he refused to allow, though what would his answer be if he had allowed it?_

_Another what if, and it is irrelevant. It does not matter that he thought she'd have been better off if he'd never met her. That he thought she'd have lived a happier life with a title, perhaps married to a viscount or even duke. It does not matter that had Enjolras even asked himself that question he would have thought he had ruined her life, when in reality, he was who completed her soul. _

_A soul cannot 'what if' itself into a time before birth, thus Enjolras would not 'what if' the question of Aurelie's presence in his life. _

_But oh, how he tortured himself. _

_And he was not alone in his self-torment. Hours before sleep are often the most treacherous to our own souls that we do nothing but ruminate these horrible, extraneous questions. Benoit was still flogging himself for his absence on June 5__th__, Theodore could not stop replaying the imagery of shooting the flower and facing the angel._

_But it was on August 8__th__, eight weeks after he'd been shot, when he'd thought all hope was lost, that everything changed. Enjolras awoke early, just before the sun had crested the horizon, the light through the window the lovely twilight glow of violet. And on this morning, he awoke on his side instead of on his back. _

_This meant he had shifted through the night, and this was a first. Because he had not been able to move anything below his waist, he couldn't imagine his upper body had done this on its own, and upon experimentation, he was able to move a foot at his ankle. _

_He was then able to bend a knee. _

_Not wanting to wake anyone just yet until he was sure this was not a dream, he raised himself with both arms. He was still weak and this sort of movement still created quite a bit of pain, mostly at his stomach, which was by far the worst after the removal of infected tissue. Nonetheless, he winced through it and was able to lean on his arm._

_Then, slowly, he bent his knees until his calves fell from the side of the bed. When his toes hit the ground, he was sitting fully upright. _

_It began with curling his feet against the wooden floor and he relished in the feel of pressure upon his heels, a hint of a grin spreading across his soft lips. It was mostly the weight of his legs that allowed such pressure until he muscled downward as though he were about to stand, and his eyes lethargically closed with an exhale of relief that he was able to do so at all. _

_He knew enough by now that he could not push himself to do things his muscles were not ready for; his upper body exercises had proven this over and over again to the point where he'd become enraged. So he forced patience above all. _

_He was slow as he balled his foot up so it would move, pushing forward like an inchworm. Once his right foot was a bit outward, he bit his lower lip, focusing on using his knee to drag it back. _

_And he succeeded. _

_"Benoit . . ." Enjolras whispered through his relieved breath. _

_Benoit had fallen asleep in one of the armchairs after consuming quite a bit of wine the night before. His shoulders seized at the sound, then he lethargically opened his eyes, keeping them in slants against the sun. Licking his lips, he uttered, "By God, man, at least take the laudanum to sleep some more, as it's far too early considering the late hour we finally—"_

_"I can move my legs," Enjolras interrupted, which had Benoit suddenly upright in the chair. Enjolras smiled pensively at him as Benoit gawked, surprised Enjolras was sitting at the edge of the bed with his feet on the floor. "Look."_

_He then demonstrated exactly what he'd been able to do moments ago, though was quickly becoming exhausted by the work. This did not matter, however. He would spend the day doing exactly this, and each time he would push to exceed the last. _

_Once he'd seen the display, Benoit leapt to his feet and rushed over to the bed to grab Enjolras' leg. "And can you flex this muscle here?" he asked, looking up into his eyes in wonder._

_Benoit then felt his calf flex, however weakly, and his excitement nearly sent him into a shriek of joy. _

_It was an hour later when Theodore entered the room, and upon witnessing how Enjolras was able to lift both feet from the floor after the many exercises Benoit had helped him with, he too rushed over, and Enjolras had a cheering section through the morning. _

_On August 11__th__, Enjolras, with one arm around Benoit, the other around Theodore, was able to rise. _

_On August 14__th__, Enjolras was able to take his first step since he had met the firing squad._

_On August 18__th__, with a cane, Enjolras was able to walk across the room. _

_On August 23__rd__, Enjolras could slowly walk on his own. _

_On August 26__th__, Enjolras, while slowly pacing the room, turned to Benoit, gently closed his eyes, then sat down in the armchair. _

_He said: "Tell me . . ."_

_He said: "Tell me how Aurelie is."_

_Benoit felt his eyes begin to water as his lips pressed together. "Enjolras," he began soothingly. "She is well."_

_Enjolras' chest heaved with a deep breath, then was handed a glass of wine by Theodore, who sat down on a stool near the fireplace, which was dark due to the lingering heat from the day. _

_"She works in a boutique in Bastille," Benoit explained as Enjolras took a sip of the wine, eager to finally hear it all. "She is beautiful, no longer wearing the colors of the downtrodden from Saint-Michel. She dresses the way she once did back in Lavaur. I walk rue Biscomet and catch glimpses of her with customers. She smiles at them and they all fall in love with her. I've no doubt most buy more than they set out to because of her, so this boutique is the better for her employment."_

_Enjolras listened intently as Benoit told him of Aurelie until his glass of wine was nearly polished off. There was one sip left that he stared at as he swilled his glass. He looked up through his brows and bit his lower lip. _

_He finally voiced the question he so feared the answer to._

_"Should I leave her to her life?"_

_Benoit's smile was pensive as he shook his head. _

_"She has no life without you in it," he said. "She continues on because there is no other option presented. You are her life. You are her husband and the father of her child."_

_Enjolras' mouth popped open, his eyes wide. Benoit began to laugh. _

_"I'm a physician," he said through a chuckle while rolling his eyes. "She may be able to hide her pregnancy for now, but I've watched her every day. A doctor visits her every two weeks. Weight has been put on in her stomach, and I know it's not from the eggs she eats each morning. It is not the weight of someone well fed, it is the weight of a woman with child."_

_Enjolras swallowed heavily. He would know his child. Taking the last sip of his wine, he set the glass down on the table. _

_"Then I believe it is time," he said, then eyed Benoit with unadulterated fear. "Will she forgive me?"_

_Benoit nodded._

_"She already has."_

And hence he was delivered on August 27th. Benoit and Theodore stood outside of the boutique and watched Enjolras enter with baited breath. Through the windows, time stopped. They watched Aurelie catch his eye from across the shop, then slowly walk toward him. They watched her touch his cheek, watched her mouth move as she spoke to him. Watched Enjolras hold her hand to his heart and line his body up against hers.

Watched their foreheads press together. Watched them kiss.

He had been safely delivered, and Theodore and Benoit looked at each other and shook hands, their task complete, their entrance to heaven secured.


	17. Book Seventeen: Forgiveness

**BOOK SEVENTEEN:**

**Forgiveness**

* * *

Blood on our Hands

While wanting to surrender himself to this kiss for the rest of his life, this was Aurelie's place of employment, so Enjolras slowly drew back. She, of course, followed until even her tip-toes couldn't keep her against his lips any longer.

Brushing a wisp of hair from her forehead, he gazed upon her for a second. He'd thought of nothing other than this moment since he'd awoke and it had far surpassed all expectations. He did not want it to end. But if he could stare into her eyes for the rest of his life, he would die a happy man.

And now, God willing, he would die an old man.

"It's not that I forget how beautiful you are," he said with a smile, brushing another lock to the side. "It's only when I see you that I lose control."

These were words burned into Aurelie's memory; she'd memorized every word ever spoken to her from his lips. And with the tears that fell at these words, she smiled.

"I know how you feel about control," she said through a chuckle that burst like a sob. "There's nothing you like less than losing it; nothing I like more than when you have."

Enjolras began to laugh; a true laugh, the first he'd had in nearly three months. Sliding his hands down her sides, he sobered and stared at her belly. What Benoit had said was true: no one would notice it unless they knew her well enough, but the bump was certainly there. Holding her hips, his chin low, he looked at her through brows, the two of them in complete reverie.

"He's a fighter," Aurelie said pensively under her breath. She wiped away her tears and sniffled as another chuckle sounded low in her throat. "No doubt the worst of us combined. How the world will take the three of us, I'll never—"

Enjolras silenced her with his mouth, overcome with his emotions to the point where he felt he would burst into a million pieces.

Foreheads once again pressed together, Aurelie held his cheek with her hand. "How are you here, my love? I thought you dead. Last I saw you, you were covered in blood."

Pauline gasped, then covered her mouth in embarrassment as to not make another sound. She did not want to interrupt them, as what she was witnessing was the most powerful display she'd seen in her life.

But she had interrupted them, and Aurelie's head— chin at her shoulder, eyes lightly closed—turned to the side toward where Pauline had backed into a corner: Palm still on his cheek, his hands still on her hips.

Ashamed to have gone noticed, Pauline bit down on her lips as she watched Aurelie's hand fall. But Aurelie did not shoo her away. Instead, the corners of her mouth turned up into a contemplative smile.

"Oh, Pauline," she breathed, then brought her eyes to the girl and sighed. "You've wished to know me, but I have not been me." With her hand on his chest—her hand over his heart—she swiveled toward the lovely girl. "This is me," she said, then took a deep breath. "This everything I am, right here. This is Enjolras."

The way he was presented nearly took Pauline into a full curtsey. That or the man himself, as it seemed he was nothing less than royalty. Still, she gripped her skirt and lowered her head.

"Monsieur," she said.

"Mademoiselle," Enjolras responded with a nod of his head and a gentle smile. He could plainly see how this girl venerated Aurelie, and she was lovely.

"Aurelie hasn't—" Pauline did not want to be rude and tell him that not only had Aurelie never mentioned a lover, she'd denied having one at all. So she aimed her question at Aurelie. "How is it you know each other?"

Aurelie could not let go of him, and wouldn't, even though it was improper to stand here in the boutique with his arm holding her close, her hand on his chest. She would never let go again.

And after denying her former life, Aurelie understood the question posed.

"You asked me just this morning if I had a lover," Aurelie said. "Well, I have not since I came to work here. I'd surrendered myself to widowhood forever, but he is the love of this life and the next. He is my husband."

This elicited another gasp from Pauline, and Aurelie's chuckle was silent.

"My life ended when I thought him dead. He was shot at the barricades, and I could not voice any part of the life I had lived. But I am very much alive now, and I will tell you everything."

"One moment, my love," Enjolras said, then turned toward the door. He gestured to Benoit and Theodore through the window.

It was thought that Aurelie could not let go of Enjolras until the moment her brother stepped through the threshold, and she ran to him, new tears flooding. Lifting her from the ground, he spun her in a circle.

Holding her out with hands on her shoulders, he quickly brought his palms to her cheeks and brushed her tears with his thumbs. "Aurelie, honestly," he said in mocking admonishment. "I don't believe I've ever seen you cry in my life, and here you go again only minutes after the first."

Aurelie laughed, her head tossed back as she tried to pull herself together, the joy of this day too much to handle. Winning all the gold in the land could not compare to the ecstasy of this afternoon, and she felt inherently that she would never be unhappy again.

Until she turned to the man who had entered behind Benoit.

These were eyes she would never forget. These were eyes that haunted her dreams.

"You . . ." she breathed as she felt herself enrage, her entire body drowning in a red fog. It was as though she was back at the barricade and blinded by the gunpowder as it would flame from a cannon, and her head became the report.

Then she was in action, pushing Benoit to the side and storming to the man. Planting both hands on his chest, she shoved him as hard as she could as she shrieked: "You killed him!"

Yes, in her eyes, Enjolras had been dead for so long that she couldn't quite refer to him as anything but.

"You killed him!" she screamed again, and just as she had once again lunged, Enjolras had lunged for her and gripped her hips, Benoit still finding his footing.

Leaning against the door, Theodore swallowed without leaving her eyes. From what he'd heard of Aurelie—from what he'd experienced on June 6th—he was fairly certain she could kill him. He'd earned whatever wrath she wished to lay upon him, and if that meant his death at her hands, then the Angel's justice had been done.

Aurelie fought against the hold on her waist, reminiscent of the morning in Bastille when she would not leave the eyes of the dead woman on the pavement, had she thought of it. But that was not what was on her mind. Her aim was to beat this man into a grave below this boutique, and even then he wouldn't have the faintest idea of the torture she had suffered.

After having maintained composure for so long—after having denied her emotions for nearly three months—Aurelie was finally exploding with everything that had been a black hole inside her hollowed shell.

"Let go of me!" Aurelie screamed as Benoit and Enjolras shared a look of panic. Enjolras held her hips but feared gripping her as he wished to: around her stomach so he could lift her feet from the floor. Meanwhile, Benoit had gathered himself and taken a shoulder, then got a firm grip on her right bicep.

This was when Aurelie screamed, far louder than before and for a very different reason. But it was due to the sharp pain in her arm where she had been wounded that she gave up her fight and crumpled against the blinding stars in her vision. With her muscles lax, Enjolras was able to pull her against his chest, one arm wrapped just above her protruding belly, the other around her shoulders.

Still Aurelie gave the man the glare of death.

We bring Pauline in here simply to explain an outside observer's point of view. She had looked at nothing other than Enjolras and Aurelie since they'd made eye contact; she still hadn't seen the man Aurelie was lashing out upon or even the brother she had hugged. Not having known anyone involved with the barricades, Pauline was only now coming to understand what Aurelie had gone through, and then this . . . she had always known Aurelie held her secrets close, which meant she was stronger than any woman she'd ever known, but she had never imagined any woman could be so bold and dauntless as Aurelie was now. Pauline, having been backed into a corner in the rear of the store for a very long time now, was frightened, not for the man, but for Aurelie should this man lash back. She was also in awe. Pauline knew she would never have the strength to lose her friends, let alone begin to attack a man. Somehow she always knew Aurelie had the strength of a man inside of her, as well.

"Aurelie," Enjolras softly said, keeping his muscles firm but his grip lax, creating more of a cage than a hold. With the side of his head firmly pressed against the side of hers, this strengthened his lockdown and repressed her ability to struggle further.

It took his voice to allow her ears to hear others, and she heard Benoit, who had placed himself between her and Theodore, say: "Christ, Aurelie!"

"This is a good man," Enjolras said with his lips against her ear.

Knowing she would not be freed until she was no longer viewed as a threat, Aurelie made a conscious effort to relax her shoulders and exhaled an exaggerated sigh as proof that she was fine.

She was not, and when Enjolras' hold eased, she launched herself from him and toward a rack, then gripped the rod with one hand. With the other, she sharply pointed at Enjolras.

"He shot you!" she yelled, staring at him as though he'd gone mad. Perhaps he didn't know what this man had done, and she would let it be known here and now that this man should die for what he had done.

"He did," Enjolras said, assuring Aurelie that he knew this clearly.

"He killed Grantaire!" she cried, lingering on the 'R', as so often was done when saying the poor man's name.

She only received a nod that followed with his previous statement:

"He did."

Her eyes made a full circle as though objects were in the air above her in absolute wonder as to how Enjolras was not striking this man dead. She couldn't fathom it! Who was he?

"Who are you?" she cried, aiming both her thought and words at Enjolras. At this point she was so livid with Enjolras that the cause of this anger had managed to slide through the cracks.

Enjolras swallowed heavily, having to face now what he knew he inevitably would, and he had become very afraid of the outcome.

"I am a man as guilty as he," Enjolras said, gently closing his lids as he voiced his confession to the only person whose opinion of him actually mattered. Finally opening his eyes, he found Aurelie gaping freely at him, stupefied. "These men . . . I killed them as well. You would beat me?"

Aurelie's mouth abruptly closed to a thin white line. "I would not," she stated firmly. "You were fighting for a future and look at what we have! Look what came of it! Our friends are dead and this man still walks!"

"This man still walks, Aurelie," Enjolras said softly. "Neither of us should, yet we are."

"How dare you say that to me," Aurelie said through her teeth. "I have lived with your death, do not go sentencing yourself to another."

"You're right," Enjolras responded. "I have many confessions for you, Aurelie, and they will be addressed when you and I are alone, but I will tell you now that I recognize only your sentence and not my own. That being said, this man here obeyed his honor and duty in a time of war, as did I. We both killed."

"Do not forget that I killed as well," Aurelie spat, as she would not allow him to shoulder all the blame for what had transpired. They were on equal ground, and she would not allow him to ignore it.

Enjolras could never forget what Aurelie had done; it would be seared into his memory as long as he lived. She had lowered herself to his level to prove him wrong, and he had been. Sentencing himself to die when praising her strength and valiancy for killing the man who had killed Gavroche had shown him his own hypocrisy.

But he would not even acknowledge that she had interjected this.

"We both killed," he repeated. "He obeyed an order, my hands bloodier than his for not only having served as an executioner, but ordering my men to kill his. We both still walk, and I cannot judge who has more of a right to it, but we arrive here at this crossroads none the less. This man, Theo . . . we are alike in a very powerful way. Every action we made was out of honor."

Eyes darting to Theodore, who stood tall and ashamed, Aurelie held her ground.

"I cannot forgive the man who kill—Who shot you," she said, hearing her own hypocrisy, it becoming enhanced by how often she accused Enjolras of doing exactly what she was here.

Benoit finally spoke up:

"But can you forgive the man who saved his life?"

Speechless, Aurelie's lips parted.

"Your brother arrived," Enjolras told her softly. "These two men are the reason I am alive. You may never forgive me after I've confessed what you missed, and I will live with that forever. But they returned me to you, and if you wish it to only be for today, then I will accept it. I only ask that you hear me out tonight and that you forgive this man, Theodore, as I forgave him before I'd even known that he carried me from the café with your brother."

There was fear registered as he eyed her. He did not know how he could survive without her; his life would truly end. There was regret that he had lived while they had lost so many, as he had led these men to their deaths. But he knew he had been spared for the sake of Aurelie. For the sake of their son.

Closing her eyes, Aurelie took a deep breath to find the calm. It was no easy feat, but she knew she must. Then her chin began to tremble.

The soldier she had looked upon—dared to kill her with her eyes. The man she had viewed as honorable at the time whatever he had done. This man had spared her life, saved Enjolras' life, and had now offered Aurelie her life back.

She hated him.

The obvious transition, hate being as passionate, was to love him.

Aurelie opened her eyes.

Looked into Theodore's.

"Thank you," she said quietly. "I forgive you."

What these words did for Theodore was ineffable. His penance for his crime had been staying by the flower's side until he would live again, but it was not until this angel had forgiven him that he felt God would allow him entrance to heaven. While knowing he would never forgive himself, it was enough to be forgiven by this pair to live out his life.

It was astounding how much he had honored Enjolras, and terrifying how much the bravery of this woman had rocked his soul that warm afternoon. Together they were transcendent, and today he had fallen deeply in love with the two as a pair, beyond his love and admiration for the individual.

Enjolras hoped that someday those very words would be spoken in his direction from her lips, but found himself so grateful that she had forgiven the man who had helped nurse him back to health that he finally stepped toward where she had backed herself against a rack, held her out by her shoulders.

He had much to say to her alone. Tonight he would confess to it all; that he had offered those with wives to leave but would not abide by his duty to her. But for now, he only had one question.

"Will you allow me to go home?" he asked her, stepping closer and searching her eyes.

"I haven't removed even one thing you owned," she told him. "The question I ask of you is if you'll allow me to stay."

Enjolras smiled. "Let me be clearer. Home is where you are, be it in my old apartment or across the world. Will you allow me to come home to you?"

Unable to tear her eyes from him, Aurelie bit her lip for a moment before responding: "You are home."

Raising her chin with his thumb and forefinger, he leaned in and gently kissed her lips. Aurelie had never thought she'd feel them against hers again; still could not believe this was no dream.

"You have work to finish," Enjolras said as he brushed his hands down her shoulders. He looked over to Benoit and Theodore, then met her eyes once more. "We will wait outside for you to close, and it's completely up to you what happens from there."

Aurelie inhaled deeply, her smile wistful. "I can make us all dinner," she said thoughtfully, eying Theodore with more speculation, but aimed her next heartfelt words in his direction. "Would you join us for dinner, Monsieur? I believe I'd like to hear how you saved my love."

She could try.

"I'd be more than honored," Theodore said as he swept into a low bow.

Benoit shook his head as he rolled his eyes. "Honestly, Aurelie. You're not making dinner, I'll cook, and second: I believe this young woman here can—"

As he swept his hand toward Pauline, he halted, and his next words were forgotten. He'd known a girl was in the boutique, of course, but had been quite distracted by all that was taking place. It wasn't until he met her eyes now that he truly took her in.

And she was beautiful.

Coincidentally, now that the stunning display of finally beginning to understand Aurelie was coming to a close, this was when Pauline first truly looked at the two men in the shop, her focus having been so drawn to the light that was Aurelie and Enjolras that they had seemed like nothing more than shadows.

But there was a new light in this boutique as she realized this man who had gestured in her direction was the very same she'd seen so often walking this street; his short sandy hair and blue eyes, and these eyes had never met hers until now. She'd thought him handsome and her mornings were spent taking extra care to beautify herself for the day in hopes of his eyes catching hers, but it wasn't until meeting them that she realized that he was not just a handsome stranger, he was someone she'd dreamed of her entire life.

Cocking her head to the side as she waited for Benoit to finish his sentence, Aurelie pursed her lips, feeling instinctively that something was happening, though she could not pinpoint what. But something had suddenly changed in Benoit. Perhaps if she did not feel so overwhelmed, she would have recognized these looks of love, as she'd seen what love looked like in both her mirror and the man who mirrored her.

"—this woman here can close up . . ." Benoit tried again, still locked in this girl's eyes. He shook his head to regain some semblance of normalcy, as this was nothing he should be even thinking about. He didn't even know _what_ he was thinking, only felt that something was happening out of his control. "You can surely close the shop alone tonight?" he asked of her, instead of continuing to refer to her.

Only because he wanted to hear her voice.

"Oh, of course I can," Pauline said, rushing over, but paused before she grew too close, having to put her enthusiasm in check before she appeared foolish. Blushing, she turned to Aurelie and smiled, feeling light headed. "You should go, as I can see this man—your husband will be hard pressed to release you from his arms."

She then reddened further over how inappropriate she'd been around three men she'd never met and the girl she felt she did not know. Of course she would make a fool out of herself; it happened too often when she was nervous. She always became flustered and said the wrong things.

But no one thought her foolish. Aurelie and Enjolras shared a look of mutual adoration and love, agreeing that neither could let go, Benoit deciding he could never tire of the sweet tonality of her voice.

Still, Aurelie was a woman who abided to duty as much as all these men, and she shook her head while patting Enjolras' chest. "I will close up and meet you outside. I sincerely hope I lock the door and find you on the street, as I still feel I will wake up any minute and it will all have been a dream."

"I suppose we will find out in a few minutes," Enjolras said, then kissed her forehead. "But I promise you I will be on that street if I have to live there the rest of my life waiting for you to walk through the door."

"Off we go then," Benoit said, over exaggerating that he was indeed normal and nothing had actually happened. After all, nothing _had_ happened. He'd seen a beautiful girl and that was all. He'd seen many before.

He could not yet admit to himself that this one was different.

"It was a pleasure meeting you—" He paused, realizing he hadn't even been introduced and did not know her name. "—Mademoiselle."

"Pauline," she responded, taking an eager step forward, then tucked her chin low, wondering if she was destined to feeling embarrassed over her ardor in front of this man for the rest of her life, should she even ever see him again.

"Pauline," Benoit repeated under his breath, her name, inexplicably, a song as it rolled from his tongue.

Aurelie peered at her brother once more and actually let a throaty chuckle escape. He was not himself, or at least not the brother she remembered. Not just now.

"I'll be quick," Aurelie said as Enjolras began to walk away, their hands drifting down the other's arms until they were out of reach, and she felt a physical pain the second she lost his touch.

But he paused at the door behind Benoit and Theodore. Turning around with his gaze at the floor between them, he said: "And Aurelie?"

Their eyes locked austerely.

"When you're finished," he began tentatively. "When you are ready to leave, take my hand so I can hold it while we walk home."

Understanding fully, Aurelie smiled as she felt her eyes swell with fresh tears.

"I will."

Enjolras returned her smile.

He would never hide her again.

* * *

Confessions

Having only shopped for ingredients according to planning a week's worth of a single serving meal per evening, Benoit was stuck making a mishmash of dishes that created small portions for each, and with many things, simply frying them together in a mixture that made no sense but tasted divine.

Over the hour they shared, Aurelie not only came to truly forgive Theodore (instead of the half-hearted words she'd spoken in the boutique), she found she genuinely liked him. He was gentle; soft spoken, empathetic, likening all virtues of men to art and music, and as he washed his hands before they ate, he had sung a song under his breath that had been nothing short of sublime.

Benoit was not at all subtle about leaving Aurelie and Enjolras alone as soon as he and Theodore had cleared the table. Aurelie made fun of him for not even having finished his wine, and received in turn: "Which goes to show you, my sister, how much I recognize the importance of a spectacular reunion tonight."

He added: "Besides, Theo and I will swing by a tavern."

The moment she had bid Theodore a good night and kissed her brother's cheek, the door was shut and Aurelie and Enjolras stood face to face, relishing in studying every inch of the other's body without touching.

That rediscovery could come later.

Enjolras brought his hands together against his lips as though in prayer, but actually in deep thought and hesitation. He knew what had to be done tonight: he would have to say things he did not feel he had the strength to voice.

It is not easy to tell someone who loves and respects you of your sins and the actions you made that hurt them. Yet these are things that need to be known by the other so they can make the choice of your worth in their life.

Decisions are made, sins committed, and Enjolras needed to repent to the only god he truly recognized.

Aurelie, staring at him in wonder as he did not speak, finally had to break the silence.

"Enjolras?"

He finally dropped his hands, one reaching for her with his palm to the ceiling. He closed that fist, beckoning her. Still he did not speak as she followed him into the bedroom.

But they did not undress. He sat down on the bed and crossed his legs, then patted the mattress for her to do the same. Once face to face, they sat in a long moment of stillness; not the smallest twitch of a muscle, their breath even, their souls bared.

"I want you to listen to me without protest for just a moment, and then we can converse. Trust me here, please."

Aurelie nodded.

"We are married," Enjolras finally said. "You are my wife and you carry our child. Legally we cannot divorce, nor in the eyes of God, but tonight, before you fully accept me back into your life, I believe I have some things to tell you that may make you wish to send me away—" He saw Aurelie open her mouth, then abruptly close it, honoring his request that she not argue. "—and should you choose to do so, I will respect your wish. I will find my own place nearby, support you financially and be a father to our child. But I cannot allow you to continue to love me in ignorance. As I confess it all, I do so with my heart and soul and you can say whatever you wish to me in response, for I am not in a place to argue. Will you allow this?"

To Aurelie, the very notion of sending him away made her want to assure him in this second that she never wanted to be apart for even a moment of time again. But Aurelie, after having shot the soldier, understood clearly that while there were decisions that held no regret, there were confessions to be made in search of forgiveness.

So as the corners of her mouth curved upward into a smile of assurance that he was safe, she said, "Tell me everything, and I will do the same. We will create a new life with a clean slate, whichever direction we so choose to go. But promise me this: I will hear you and not argue, as you will hear me and do the same."

With hesitation, as he could not imagine anything she had to unburden could not be met with an argument of her innocence, Enjolras succeeded to this demand.

"I promise," he said.

And thus they began to cleanse their souls, and it is important to note that as this was done, not a reaction was made by either, living up to their promise that no argument would be uttered. Confessions should not be met with shock or damnation, they must be met with forgiveness.

Enjolras said: "You were asleep against the pillar when I betrayed you. We had five uniforms for five men to escape the barricade with their lives. I ordered all men with a duty to a wife, to a child, to a mother or sister, to leave at once, for that duty was more important than any glorious death defending what we believed in. I knew I should have left for you as I ordered this, but I did not. I felt it wrong having led these men to their death when I had more of a duty to you than to the barricade."

Aurelie said: "If you had tried to drag me away, you would have done so with me kicking and screaming and demanding that you stay, not because I wished for you to die, but because I would never hold you back from your beliefs. You are a leader capable of changing the world, and I hope that someday you will regain the strength and adamancy to follow through with creating a better future, despite where you feel it may land me."

Enjolras said: "In executing the murderer, I sentenced myself to die. I did not think of how that would affect you, and in my judgment, I was selfish."

Aurelie said: "When you did this, I damned you for it, failing to understand how you could possibly place such a harsh sentence upon yourself when you had done what few men would have the strength to do. While I never stopped loving you, I did not view you as the person I loved through those hours. I should have remained steadfast in my love and understood with empathy what would drive you to do such a thing."

Enjolras said: "I did not trust you to leave, as we had once spoken of fighting a war side by side. I treated you as a fragile child and tried to push you away when I should have believed in your maturity, self-preservation and intelligence to know when the time was right. Instead I spent hours angry that you were there when I should have recognized the strength and love that led you to stay by my side."

Aurelie said: "I understood your wish to protect me and our child, but resented you for feeling I was too weak to handle what I had been ready for my whole life. Instead of being defiant, I should have loved you all the more for your wish to keep me safe and your paternal instincts of protecting our child."

Enjolras said: "I should have never disrespected you by keeping you a secret. I should have had more faith in those I was surrounded by, as they were indeed dauntless and staunch in their beliefs, enough so that not one action made that fateful night would have changed had they seen what I believed was a weakness, when I now know it was you who bolstered my strength. You were debased by me even considering you as a weakness to begin with, when my love for you was more powerful than even my unyielding dedication to alter the way our society is run."

Aurelie said: "I deceived you by staying at the barricade when you thought I had left. I did not protect myself when you thought I did, therefore I was a liar. Instead of running away, I risked the life of our child and hid in a closet until it was over, and had this gone the other way—had I died and you lived—not only would I have left you with the burden of believing you had failed, I would have been a murderer of our own flesh and blood."

Enjolras said: "When you climbed beside me at the barricade as Gavroche braved the army, sacrificing his life to bring us the ammunition we needed for our last stand, I was angry and should have stayed that way. Instead I found myself in awe and allowed you to lower yourself to the point where we were equal. I still respect and admire what you did, as I firmly believe you did what was right; exacting justice on a man who murdered a child, but having killed a man, I understand the toll it takes on a soul. It should have been me who shot that man, not the other way around."

Aurelie said: "I hid an injury from you so you would not drag me away, as I knew you would go mad. But atop that barricade when you had covered me to keep me safe, a lead of grapeshot struck me. Instead of allowing you to know this, I did not recognize your right to it and instead sought the aid of Marius to bandage my wound. As my husband and love, you should have been the first to know, as were it the other way around, I would have been enraged if you had hid a severe injury from me. You deserved to be my physician, as I would have demanded to be yours."

Enjolras said: "I was too focused on solidifying our plan in those last few days that you went abandoned and ignored during the day, when I should have taken the opportunity to spend every moment I had left with you. I should have held you every second of those last five days, but instead I continued on. You see, I knew I was to die—we know it is a miracle I have been spared—and I said this only to Father D'Aurellac at Saint Genevieve, when I should have brought these dark thoughts to you, as you are the only council I need."

Aurelie said: "Before the barricades, I went to Marius with my jewelry and a wad of francs behind your back to buy weaponry, too afraid to demand you take them. I felt you would be a hypocrite, which was another betrayal, going behind my husband's back to someone else. Having been married for eighteen months, then legally married for a few days, our possessions were shared and you had a right to know where mine went."

Having confessed the sins committed against each other, there was silence. Once more, stillness. They did not need to speak, did not need to ask if they were forgiven. Confession had beget forgiveness before they'd even begun, it was the listening that had been important. The lack of arguing and recognizing without condemnation that the other needed to relieve their heavy burdens.

We cannot will back time, we cannot 'what if'.

What we can do is admit, and in turn, we can forgive.

Aurelie climbed from the bed and Enjolras swiveled his body until he faced her. The last time she had seen him, he'd had blood in his hair, and she swept the curls from his forehead on his left side to find a scar that angled over the top of his ear; three centimeters at most and unnoticeable while covered by the length of his curls.

Her head tilted to the side, the intensity of her eyes conveyed the depth of her emotions. Enjolras studied her face as she studied his scar, then felt her hand trail down to his neck, where she deliberately untied his cravat. He understood clearly what she was doing; understood that she needed to see it all with her own eyes.

He did not help her, he allowed her to move at her own languid pace. She watched her hands, he watched her, and this was done with a vacant mind. Instead of thinking, he felt.

At the last of his buttons, Aurelie brought both hands up to his collar and spread open his shirt. She made a point not to look down until it was fully removed, so she kept her eyes focused on her hands as she brought the sleeves down his arms until the shirt was free.

The first she saw was the scar on his shoulder, a round purple dot the size of a coin. Around it were smaller pinpricks from the stitches that had once closed this wound in its early stages. She brushed her thumb over it.

"Does it still hurt you?" she asked delicately.

"At times," he responded.

Staying on his right side—refusing to let herself glimpse at the most important scar he had—she trailed her hand down to the most grotesque injury on his body; the mess of jagged scarring just above his hip. The skin in the center had indented, the color was violent.

"Your brother is a sloppy surgeon," Enjolras exhaled with a ghost of a laugh.

With her lips pressed firmly together, Aurelie frowned a smile, having been told of this infection and her brother sparing no detail as to how much tissue had been cut away.

Her forefinger traced the veins that burst from the center the way a drunk sees the rays of the sun. While the polka-dot at his shoulder may turn white and eventually fade, this scar would no doubt remain in the same way hers would; it was just too messy for the body to clean up.

She sighed, then brought her hand up to his bicep where she let it rest. It was then that she used her right hand, trailing her fingers down to the purple dot on his chest.

"This is the one God stopped," she stated, applying a bit of pressure with her palm to feel his heartbeat beneath her hand. And speaking to God, she said, "I will be thanking you for the rest of my life for this."

Enjolras placed his hands on her hips and gen-tly urged her closer until she was between his knees. His chin rose as hers fell and they pressed their lips together in prayer. Rising with his lips against hers until the last second, he looked down at the wide v-neck of her yellow dress with intent.

"Where were you struck?" he asked her, his eyes darting across her chest and arms as though he were trying to locate her injury by seeing through her clothes.

Bringing her left hand over the puffed sleeve of her dress, Aurelie said, "Here."

He was deliberate with his motions as he walked around her, not leaving her eyes until she could not crane her neck any further. Once at her back, he fingered the chain around her neck and twisted it twice before gripping the top button of her dress and working it free.

The weight of the sleeves took her dress down over her shoulders before he was even halfway done, but Enjolras made a point not to look at her arm until she was free of it. When he had finished the last of the buttons, he knelt down and gripped the sides of the dress to lift it from her, Aurelie raising her arms to the sky.

This was intimacy in its purest form. No lust, at least not now. This was a reveal of secrets. Skin bearing the scars of their war, proof of their pain that can only be seen in vulnerability. Open to the other's scrutinizing gaze of love and devastation, the tender healing power of the other's touch.

In only her corset and sleeveless chemise, Enjolras completed his full circle until he was once again face to face with her, never once letting his fingertips stray from her skin. It was then that he sat down once more before her. It was then that he finally allowed his eyes to travel over her shoulder and down her arm.

Were this any other time, Enjolras would have gripped the roots of his hair as he turned red in anger that she had been harmed. He would have had an outburst of words that would follow with violence toward either he who had inflicted this upon her or an object as an outlet.

Be that as it may, tonight had no room for anger, only love.

Aurelie's chin met her shoulder as she looked down at the long jagged line on her bicep; purple to match his own wounds and descriptively nestled on the scale of malformation between the clean polka-dot and the exploding purple sun.

But because it had never been tended to by a surgeon, it had more width and depth, and the last of the scabbing had left a pink crevasse that was still attempting to heal.

"How did I ever let this go by?" Enjolras said in wonder while solemnly shaking his head.

"I made you see what you wanted," Aurelie responded thoughtfully. "You did not want to see me injured, so I did not allow you to."

"But this . . ." he said, then looked her in the eyes. ". . . This I should have felt."

"I believe our situation at the time was a sufficient enough distraction that neither of us felt as much physical pain as we should have," Aurelie said. "It was instead the emotional pain I felt in you, as you no doubt felt in me, as we always do."

Enjolras nodded that this was an acceptable excuse, as had he not been distracted by his torrent of emotions over those twenty-four hours, he would have been able to feel the blow she'd taken as if it had struck his own body.

His gaze travelled downward to her stomach, where many laces tied vertically on each side of the corset to allow the belly to expand. After a heavy swallow, he met her eyes, as though asking for her permission.

Taking her hair with both hands and bringing it over her shoulder, Aurelie turned around for him to unlace her corset. Once he had finished and it had been slid around her body and removed, Aurelie reached down and pulled the chemise over her head: nude, save for her drawers.

Unabashed with her arms hanging freely at her sides, Aurelie turned around.

In just under three months' time, Enjolras was astounded by how her body had changed, and in admiring the shape, he found himself falling in love with her all over again. He'd thought his love profound before, and indeed it was given the magnitude, but seeing the tangible proof of their blood combined in this physical being forming inside of her had morphed his love. It was no larger, as he could not love her more than he already did, and it was certainly not less. Instead a new shape of his love for her had been molded, and it was celestial.

Aurelie smiled against a gentle kick, and gripped Enjolras' hand quickly, sweeping it up. "Here," she said eagerly, pressing his palm against the left side of her bellybutton.

Enjolras tensed and held his breath.

He then felt the nudge against his hand and grinned. On the second, he exhaled in amazement.

Aurelie gazed at Enjolras with a smile on her soft lips; the father of her child, who was alive and sitting before her, sharing this moment with her.

"He knows you're home," she said tenderly.

His mouth altering from an excited grin into a wistful smile, Enjolras rose from the bed.

"You are beautiful," he said to her, relishing in the feel of her skin against his. And indeed she was. She was radiant.

Playfully biting her lip, Aurelie asked, "Enough for all control to be lost?"

Enjolras sobered instantly, staring deeply into her eyes.

"I don't know that I'll ever have control again," he said, then embraced her while turning as they fell onto the bed and entwined in a passionate kiss.

While we can share graphic violence in all its glory without so much as a blink, we do not yet live in a society that can describe physical love without condemnation. So we only say with our forefinger pressed against our lips in secret that Aurelie and Enjolras did not allow one centimeter of skin to be left untouched, did not allow their lips to ever be still, and they did not close their eyes to sleep until the sun had crested the horizon.


	18. Book Eighteen: This is Only a Beginning

**BOOK 18:**

**This is Only a Beginning**

* * *

He Who Survived

Two spectacular months passed. Post barricade, it seemed everyone had matured after the horrors witnessed, though certainly in different directions.

Aurelie had doubled in size since her life once again began on that warm August afternoon. There is always a glow women have while pregnant, and Aurelie's was blinding. As she'd been born to love Enjolras, it seemed she was also born to carry this child. Unlike so many, her pregnancy was without incident. Not once did she feel sick to her stomach, not once did she feel tired or heavy. She was, in fact, invigorated. It was as though her child was offering her a vitality that surpassed any emotion and virtue she had ever possessed before, magnifying everything she had ever been.

Now two months away from the birth, Aurelie left her job and had been promised she could return to it at any time should she so choose. She relished in cooking their meals, enjoyed sewing clothes and blankets for their child while she sang. She even bought a violin, one of the instruments she'd learned as a girl in Lavaur, and could often be heard playing Mozart and Vivaldi for Honore.

When it came to her interpersonal relationships, she found the pinnacle of valuing those she loved, and they were reminded as often as possible how loved they were. That none were taken for granted at any moment and time. This included Theodore, whom she'd not only fully forgiven, she'd grown to love as any friend she'd once found in the Les Amis de l'ABC.

Theodore had discovered a new family in these people as a result of the insurrection. Beyond everything he'd learned from his father and grandfather about duty and honor, he found a duty to life above all else, and was now living it to his potential. Instead of living through his duty to country, he was living it through duty to himself and acting upon his hopes and dreams, even ones he did not know about. He was painting; he'd loved and appreciated art secretly and only now, driven by the realization that there was more to life than an occupation, did he realize that he had talents and hobbies. He was quite skilled, and found his encouragement through the admiration he received in his new friends.

In simply witnessing the most profound scene in the boutique, Pauline had morphed from a girl to a woman. She still had the naiveté of a nineteen year old who had experienced not one horror in her life, but she had now lived through the eyes of others, and through their stories—learning from their virtues—Pauline had developed depth. She could not yet debate against these staunch friends of hers, but she soaked in everything they said. And in order to try and impress them, in order to someday do more than listen in awe, she was now reading books of history instead of fluff about love.

She had her own fluff to be living.

Indeed, Benoit had fallen for the girl, a first for him. While always down to business in the proper environments—while having been raised as a gentleman of status and title—he'd always had a sarcastic streak and had been an incessant flirt, paying no mind to the wave of brokenhearted madams left in his wake. While he maintained his playful nature—enjoyed gambling with friends, enjoyed teasing and was generally sardonic—and while they had always been channeled appropriately, Benoit had muted their extravagance and over exaggeration. He was not as reckless, especially pertaining to women, and was not just feeling love for a single woman in silence, he was actually courting her.

Many internal changes were made inside all, the largest in Enjolras, though not all positive.

Enjolras was acutely aware that he had killed many men, and as a man or woman who has killed can tell you, the ghosts haunt, no matter how right the killing had been. Combeferre had once explained that even in a public spirited murder—in a liberating murder, if there is such a thing—there is an emotional consequence that takes a toll. He managed well enough through the days, as he was elated to have Aurelie and their child after once certain he would never see them again on June 6th. It was the nights he struggled with; the phantoms entering his dreams.

But he would awake to Aurelie hovering above him like an angel as she'd brush her fingers through his hair and assure him that he was safe and all was well. That he was loved. That he was forgiven.

Aside from a piece that had been fully removed, Enjolras' heart was full. The chunk stolen from his soul, however, were his friends, and there were times it displayed itself freely and without warning. He needed their forgiveness that he had lived and they had died, and that would never come, as the dead cannot speak. Enjolras was not a man of regrets, and he was not a man who asked the useless question beginning with 'what if'. But their insurrection had accomplished nothing. Walking down the street, one could assume it was June 4th, as people were still dying of hunger, thirst, disease. The government was still a monarchy, the laws upon laborers still unjust, the caste system as wide as ever, the foreign relations as tense, the regards to refuges still hateful. He could not answer what it had all been for, as nothing had come of it other than death.

We tell this because Enjolras struggled, which was a change for him. June 5th had taught him that every man, including himself, had a justified reason to hang a head, a right to imperfection, and in this, he empathized with weakness instead of damning it.

This, however, was a positive change. Enjolras became relatable. He still had a war to fight, though now had the maturity of channeling it properly; into his chosen profession of law, and with his two degrees, knowledge and charm, he had managed to skip every rung on the ladder and was hired by a prestigious law firm on rue de Clare in Bourse, receiving the same caseload as the senior lawyers while half their age.

Though should any rising of the people ever happen again, which past history proves it always does as unstable the world always is, he undoubtedly would pick up a gun once more, as his beliefs did not change. The only difference was that he would never serve as a general again.

To Aurelie he was the perfect husband. He loved her shamelessly, at times to the point where Benoit would order him to just take Aurelie home. In public, he rarely dropped her hand, always allowed her shoulder against his, bragged about her to his coworkers, purchased gifts and was secretly in the process of shopping for a house so Honore could grow up under the roof he'd been born. In private, she would catch him staring at her in reverence, and more often than not, she was held in his arms.

On a Sunday morning in late October, Aurelie finished setting the table for breakfast as Enjolras returned home with a newspaper: the Nationale. They both sat down to eat, Aurelie waiting for Enjolras to inevitably find something printed that he felt wronged humanity, where they would then enter a discussion over their meal.

"Lepage has been moved to Mont-Saint-Michel," Enjolras said gravely, then bit the inside of his lip as he looked up to Aurelie.

He had known Lepage, who had been a leader in the _Societe des Droits de l'Homme et du Citoyen_. Lepage had once sat at this very table one night as they spoke of human rights only one year before, and Enjolras had involved himself in the legal proceedings as much as could be allowed. Not one man who had survived would dare sell out another, so he was safe attending these trials. But he'd come home the evening they sentenced Lepage to death in the darkest of places; Aurelie that night had to quite literally rock him to sleep.

In order to stem off Enjolras' soul-consuming guilt, Aurelie always transitioned these sorts of stories to the brightest side she could find.

"So mercy was given," Aurelie said with a firm nod. "The jurors petitioned for it, he will not be hanged. What of the case your friend Adolphe Cremiuex has?"

Enjolras turned the page as he took a deep breath; Aurelie always misdirecting him to a light of hope instead of a dark despair. He still had many demons to overcome, and those included watching men he loved go to trial, but as long as he had Aurelie, he had the strength to push through.

"Cuny's defense will stand, as there is only proof of the weapon in his possession," Enjolras said with a sigh, an attorney at his firm having taken this under. Cremiuex, twenty years of defending accused, was the only man there who knew of Enjolras' involvement. In comparison, Cuny had squashed a bug while Enjolras acted as an exterminator. "The pistol was stolen. He is denying firing it, which is absurd—of course he fired it, more than once, I don't doubt. No one from that night will say otherwise; I've not seen one man cave, but I worry he'll act up in trial this week."

The corner of Aurelie's mouth twitched, as she knew if Enjolras were to stand trial he would go down with a fight, or at least he would have had he not been given a second chance to live.

"He is unpredictable?"

"He is me," Enjolras said gravely, then turned the page.

Aurelie spun the glass of milk on the table. It was very hard to see the way Enjolras battled with what he felt he should do—turn himself in, stand with those guilty of their insurrection, become a martyr—and what he must do: stay by her side, be a father to their child and live to fight another day. She did not doubt him in all circumstances. He would not leave her ever again, he would be an excellent papa, and she knew with full certainty that the day would come when she would lose him to the republic once again.

She had reconciled all three. As long as their timing was in sync, she would accept the inevitable.

Just as she was lifting her glass to take a sip, she was startled by Enjolras slamming the paper down on the table between them, his fingers splayed across the page.

"What has happened?" she asked, setting the glass down, then peered up at him in a panic.

She thought she registered excitement, but his features were set determinedly, and he wet his lips, which was rarely a good sign.

"Read this," he said, then pointed firmly at an article halfway down the page, just under the fold.

Aurelie swept the paper from the table, needing a little force to pull it from the weight of his finger. Eyes locating the headline, she began to read.

Only the rich would receive an announcement in the paper of nuptials, and the Pontmercy name had enough clout for the press to cover such an event.

"I thought he'd died," she said, bringing her trembling hand up to cover her mouth.

"Apparently he did not!" Enjolras cried. "Marius is alive!"

She studied it closely, as if it was too good to be true: perhaps she'd misread the name or it was God's cruel joke.

Indeed, the paper announced the marriage of a Monsieur Marius Pontmercy, grandson of the Viscount Pontmercy, to Euphrasie Lanoire. It had taken place only the day before, Sunday, at Saint Genevieve.

Eyes narrowing, Aurelie frowned at the paper as her head shook briefly. She glanced up at Enjolras and said, "He was in love with a girl named Cosette."

"Perhaps it was an arrangement he could not break," Enjolras said, then shrugged as if to say _who cares?_ while his eyes lit up. "What matters is that Marius lived! Aurelie, last I saw him he took a bullet that I believed had killed him. I cannot begin to fathom how he survived."

"And how did you survive?" Aurelie posed. "Last I saw you, you had taken bullets from a firing squad, yet here you are."

Enjolras smiled wistfully, as he would forever be grateful to Benoit and Theodore for having saved his life for the sake of Aurelie and their child. He could not think of it without a smile; it was impossible.

"Someone must have cared for him enough to nurse him to health, as happened to me," Enjolras said.

It was there, but it was not. All the dots flashed in Aurelie's memory that could have been put together if she could just connect them, but they could not seem to create a picture that left an explanation as to how Marius had possibly survived. As Enjolras generally chalked these things up to the perfection of proper timing, Aurelie attributed it to the will of God.

This is not to say that Enjolras did not believe in God, and not to say Aurelie believed in him so firmly that she attended church every Sunday, but they did weigh the balance differently, just closer to the center than the polarization of the bulk of population.

Still, it bothered Aurelie reading this Madame's name. She laid the paper in the middle of the table and leaned back in her chair with her brows narrowed over her lovely blue eyes.

"He was in love with a Cosette," she repeated, then bit her lip.

Enjolras reached across the table and took her hand. "Are you not listening?" he said through laughter; the sound of unadulterated wonder. He was not the last of his friends standing, and as close as Marius had been, he was overjoyed. "Our Marius!"

"You're not listening," Aurelie said, then sighed as she smiled. "I am overcome with happiness that he is alive, my love." Her chin began to quiver as the weight of speaking it aloud permeated her being. "I cannot even begin to voice—" And indeed, it was there that her voice clipped and she had to swallow.

Enjolras slid closer to the corner so he could be nearer to her. As for two months he'd needed her to soothe him, this was the first he'd seen her weakened since they'd confessed their sins. And he realized now that she had been maintaining strength for him when it should have been the other way around.

"Tell me," he coaxed.

Tears began to prick Aurelie's eyes, and she sniffled as she smiled against them.

"He bandaged me," she said, then chuckled. Her eyes hovered in the nether as she remembered what Marius had done for her. "We became close that night, as he discovered me early. He was the only one other than you who knew I was there." She paused, then tilted her head. "And Eponine. Mmm, how that girl loved him. She sacrificed her life to save his, and Enjolras, he sacrificed himself over and over again for you; to deliver you to me."

Enjolras inhaled deeply; he had somehow known this in that fatal hour as they fought atop, and while it went unrecognized at the time that Marius was making himself a more vulnerable target to distract the guardsmen from Enjolras, it went remembered.

"But there was an hour he spent by my side," Aurelie said, then sighed. "He had heard that Cosette was about to cross to America, and he did not know what to do. We talked of love and offered the other comfort. I mean no offense to you when I say that he stood in your place beside me at that barricade."

It was a blow, and Enjolras closed his eyes against the wince, knew that he had to accept this, as it was the horrible truth of it. She was not saying this to hurt him.

But it did.

She continued, aware that it had been a blow, and aware that he knew there was no malice intended.

"He spoke of Cosette and his love for her. True love, I've no doubt of it, as he was you and I the day we met." This made her laugh. "Well, not exactly," she said, then met his eyes. "We were quite a spectacular show, weren't we?"

Smiling, Enjolras nodded. He wanted to kiss her. "To everyone," he agreed, adjusting his hold on her hand to make it stronger. "I certainly learned what it means to feel contrite; the first in my life, I believe."

"You really were rather rude!" Aurelie scolded teasingly.

"I was in love," he said fondly. "In love with my equal, and I didn't know how to handle it. I treated you as I would have any other and with every word that left your mouth, the more agitated and in love I became. You were rather intimidating!"

"I intimidated the Apollo?" Aurelie cried dramatically. "I can't even fathom—"

He leaned in and kissed her lips, then smiled again. "You are still intimidating at all times to everyone, even to me." Sweeping her long hair behind her shoulder, he continued. "But I was not intimidated the next day. I was sure. I spent that night thinking only of you and reconciling that I was not the man I thought I was. I came to the conclusion that I was stronger."

A mutual look of adoration was shared, then another kiss.

"I believe a visit is in order," Aurelie said. "You go to work, I'll find out where he is living."

Enjolras rose from the table. He put on his jacket—a new, proper red jacket—and swept up his leather case. Once he had palmed the knob to the door, he turned back to Aurelie and gazed at her.

"I do so love you, Aurelie," he said wistfully. "Always have, and I always will."

* * *

How a Reunion Post-Death Can be Joyous and Soul Shattering

The following Saturday, Aurelie and Enjolras left after breakfast. They made a stop along the way at a florist to place flowers in a crystal vase Aurelie had purchased earlier in the week. Quite incredibly, the weather had been holding into a late fall, and though the week had looked bleak, this morning the clouds had parted and the sun was shining.

They walked to rue de la Pampe, where the wealthiest resided in Trocadero. Marius had a lovely house here, smaller than the apartment buildings and estates, though far more resplendent than the others in Aurelie's eyes because, in comparison, it was quaint and cozy.

Outside the gate while Enjolras held the vase, Aurelie rearranged the flowers to perfection. He looked at her endearingly as she did this, his wife lovely in even the smallest of actions. While today was very important to the both of them, she had gone the extra mile this morning to put on one of her most stunning dresses; a purple that resembled twilight, and her golden hair swept up in a complicated design that would be difficult to replicate.

"This bouquet will be loved even if the peony is not beside the . . ." Enjolras paused, having no idea what the blush colored flower she was replacing was.

"Dahlia," Aurelie said, gently working the stem with an angle she approved of, then eyed him with a grin. "I'm surprised you even know what a peony is."

He leaned in and kissed her forehead. "I know they're your favorite."

"Indeed," she agreed, then leaned back to admire her work. "Just when I think I can't love you more, you remember my love of peonies."

Enjolras opened the gate and gestured for her to walk ahead of him, then followed, latching it behind. Once at the front door, Enjolras flipped the iron knocker three times, then stepped back, his muscles lax, his posture entirely casual.

"Are you nervous?" Aurelie asked, tilting her head to the side to study him.

Enjolras' lower lip rose, his brows high on his forehead. "No," he said with a shrug while shaking his head. "Are you?"

Aurelie echoed his look.

"No."

They were both very much at ease, just as they always had been when confronted with any situation presented, be it drinking on the second floor of the Café Musain, debating society, or faced with a rally in front of Lamarque's house. It was only at the barricade that they'd tensed, and only because they had not once expected that their emotions would have altered so dramatically.

The door was swept open by a lovely girl with blond locks of hair that was slightly lighter than Aurelie's, and it cascaded loosely down with only two little whisps pinned in the back. She was a lovely girl, short and petite. Aurelie smiled as she had a fleeting moment of wishing her figure was not so full despite how much she loved the bump in her belly.

"Can I help you?" she asked, rosy with love and still in her honeymoon.

"Good morning," Enjolras said, inclining his head properly without a smile. He hesitated, though only for a moment, as he was not a man to hesitate. However, he did not feel he should introduce himself with his name, as he did not know what Marius might have said of the barricade. Until Marius was before him to make the introduction, he would avoid his name as to not be turned away before it was Marius himself making that decision. "We are here looking for a Monsieur Marius."

Aurelie, on the other hand, was overjoyed now that the door had opened, and this girl, Euphrasie, was sweet and lovely. She did not notice no introduction had been made.

"We read of your marriage," Aurelie said, unable to contain her overwhelmed smile. "We were good friends with Marius another lifetime ago, and came by to congratulate him." Holding out the vase, she added, "This is for you, Madame."

The girl took the flowers with reverence. The way it was received appeared as though Aurelie had bestowed her with the riches of the land, and the girl buried her nose into the bouquet. When she inhaled, she could not understand why this was the sweetest fragrance she'd ever smelled in her lifetime. Perhaps it was the exceptional beauty and love of the woman who had handed it to her.

"Please, do come in," she said, biting her lip to try and contain herself. "My name is Cosette."

Without meaning to, Aurelie's hand burst to her lips to cover how her mouth had become wide in surprise and elation. Marius had found Cosette! Marius, who had given himself over to death as Enjolras had, was married to the woman he believed he would never find again.

Having thought everyone Marius had known and loved had passed at the barricade, Cosette began to tremble with glee, wanting to burst into tears. Finally she'd have a chance to know him through the eyes of others. People he had cared about, and who had cared about him.

When she placed the vase on a table near the door, while fluffing the flowers, she nearly knocked it over. Her excitement seemed to be too much to contain.

"Excuse me," she said while blushing, needing to explain the inevitable future mistakes she would make as a proper woman entertaining company. "I'm so very silly at times. I'm just ridiculously happy to meet Marius' friends."

Aurelie's chuckle was a song, completely endeared to Cosette already. She looked at Enjolras to gauge how he was feeling, and she had rarely seen him like this; his hand was at his chin, his forefinger against his soft lips that held a gentle grin of both amusement and fondness.

She loved him even more.

"You're not silly," Aurelie promised her, her eyes still upon her husband in affection. "I feel rather silly myself over meeting you. You are very much in love, I can see it. I know what love looks like."

"Marius . . . he's out buying today's Nationale. He should be back presently," Cosette told them. She did not want them to leave, so this was said with deep heartfelt regret. "Will you please wait for him?"

"We'd be delighted," Enjolras said, bowing his head to her.

Cosette brightened. She would do her very best to entertain them until Marius had returned. She was his wife now, and would not let him down in perhaps the most important visit Marius could receive.

"Will you follow me to the garden?" she asked. "We can sit outside, it's quite warm for October."

Enjolras and Aurelie nodded at each other, then Enjolras held his hand out to gesture that Aurelie follow Cosette first.

"This is a paradise," Aurelie told the girl, and it indeed was. They had a lovely terrace that was private, the terrace giving way to grass, then paths through the large garden. Large for Paris, anyways. Little was in late bloom, but it seemed the second Aurelie stepped onto the stones, the world had brightened with color.

"Oh, we have a wonderful gardener," Cosette gushed, then gestured to the iron table. There was little more she loved in this world than sitting outside with Marius, and it seemed these visitors surpassed those afternoons. "Please, sit with me and tell me how you know my Marius."

"I met Marius one night through a mutual friend," Enjolras said as he pulled a chair out for Aurelie and settled her. He then took a seat. He had been hard on Marius from the moment they'd met to the night Marius had come in late to their meeting. Enjolras had been cruel. He now understood what Marius had said of Cosette; that with a glance, Cosette could make any man understand love, and while Marius had not known that Enjolras knew this clearly at the time, he could plainly see how a man could fall for this girl in the first second.

He then remembered how Marius had once been a naïve boy, and had become a man at the barricade.

"We did not start out well," he admitted through a chuckle. "I can concede now that I am a difficult man to love."

"Now I know that cannot be true," Cosette said, studying the beautiful man, whom she once would have chased had she not fallen in love with Marius. And glancing at the beautiful woman beside him, she recognized how very much in love they were. They had the proof of it in her figure and the way she shined.

"Oh, it is," Aurelie said freely, however endearingly. "My husband can be relentless!"

Cosette, feeling this was a joke considering how charming this man was, laughed airily. And it was said as a joke, but it had been very true for a very long time.

"And—" Cosette abruptly cut herself off, having seen the front door open. "Oh my goodness, he's home! Excuse me, we'll be out in a moment!"

She disappeared, shutting the glass doors behind her. Aurelie watched Cosette run to him and he scooped her into his arms. Enjolras, watching their shadows in the darkened house, took Aurelie's hand.

"Oh my love, you have visitors," Cosette cried loudly enough that the sound made its way through the panes of glass. Marius began to ask who, but she dragged him by his hand toward the terrace, and he could do nothing but laugh behind her.

The second they were outside, Marius locked eyes with Aurelie first and paused as though he'd hit a brick wall. When his eyes flicked to Enjolras, he felt he could not breathe. He seemed to falter backwards, and Cosette looked at him strangely.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said, suddenly realizing that perhaps these people were unwelcome in Marius' life. She'd never thought of that, her interest in his past too exciting for her to begin to assume it would affect him negatively. "Oh my, Marius, I'm sorry. Do you want to—" she leaned in to whisper an excuse he could use to escape, "—do you have something you need to do?"

What was happening between Enjolras, Aurelie and Marius was possibly the very most intense of glances shared by three people in history. In this eye contact, all was remembered in a brick that had crashed upon them.

Very much like the cannonball that had killed the two men at the barricade.

To say that they were overwhelmed was an understatement. At the very same time, they shared their grief, their love, their anger, their happiness, their surprise, their gratitude, and it was all done by borrowing each and then handing it back.

Neither Enjolras nor Aurelie had known they would be so affected by seeing their dearest friend, and as they both rose from their chairs, they could not figure out if this had been the best or worst idea they'd ever had, as the horrors of that fateful night returned to them.

Still, they both breathed easily. They did not smile. They did not frown. Not a muscle moved.

Until Marius infinitesimally shook his head, then sprinted toward Aurelie first. He embraced her, entirely improper and yet the very most appropriate action.

Marius kissed her cheek, and he began to cry against her shoulder. He could not grip her tightly enough until the second it dawned on him that he had seen her eyes, but hadn't taken her in. Abruptly he grabbed her shoulders and held her out to look her over.

She was quite pregnant and all the more resplendent for it. More radiant than he felt he'd ever seen her.

He then turned to Enjolras and his tears magnified through a large smile of relief. "Oh, my brother," he said, then embraced Enjolras in very much the same way as he had Aurelie. He then placed a hand on each of their arms. "My god, I thought the both of you dead!"

Cosette gasped.

"I thought you dead as well, my friend," Enjolras said. "The last I saw you, you had taken a bullet before I shut the door to the café. I prayed for you then, Marius, and it seems it was given God's attention."

We cannot fully explain the magnitude of this reunion, as it was ineffable. The bond between these three transcended reason, and after the experience of war, it had become unbreakable. While Cosette was lost in confusion, she felt in her soul that a life-altering moment was happening before her eyes, and indeed it was. But we return to Enjolras, Aurelie and Marius, who were internally reliving what they had been through, but there was something greater than the horror they felt upon remembering it all.

There was love, stronger and truer than any and all horrors experienced. And though they were reminded of the horrors upon meeting once more after so many months, this did not matter. It was, in fact, welcomed.

"Oh, my love," Marius said, releasing Enjolras and quite literally dragging Aurelie behind him to introduce her first, as the way they had bonded at the barricade had made her a guardian angel in his eyes. After thinking her dead, he often prayed to her at night before he slept. "My dearest Cosette, this is Aurelie. And this man beside her is Enjolras."

Cosette fell into a full curtsey.

"Seeing as we share that name, you may call me Alexandre," Enjolras said.

Aurelie raised a clever brow. "Seems you're the first and only, Cosette," she said. "Even I am not permitted to use that name."

"Not true, my darling," Enjolras whispered in her ear as he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close.

"Oh, Aurelie," Cosette gushed, then reached for her hands, taking them both. "How I've dreamed of meeting you."

Aurelie chuckled, grasping the girl's hands in return. She had felt a deep connection with Cosette through Marius, and now knew it to be true.

"You may think me crazy, but I have dreamed of the same," Aurelie told her, and she meant it. She'd hoped to one day find Cosette and tell her how much she had been loved by Marius. That was when she'd thought him dead, but she would follow through with it, take this magnificent afternoon to share with Cosette how Marius had pined for her behind that lonely barricade.

"Everyone, please sit! I will get us a drink!" Cosette then began to panic, as she did not know what to bring to these honored guests. What does one serve Apollo? What does one serve an angel? "I can bring tea, but it's too hot for tea! Should I bring wine, Marius? Or a glass of lemonade?"

"Lemonade would be delightful," Aurelie told the sweet girl. She had not seen the horrors of the world. She was not aged the way Aurelie was after what she'd seen; what she'd been a part of. Cosette was youthful in both age and personage, and it was obvious to everyone that she was working very hard to live up to being the perfect hostess.

This was entirely endearing to all.

Cosette hurried off, the three of them sat around the table.

"Enjolras, Aurelie, I cannot begin to express how happy I am that you've come! I have so many questions . . ."

He was glad when Aurelie cut him off, as he had no idea where to go from there. There were too many words, too many questions, so many they would flood in a heap.

"She is beautiful. More beautiful than I imagined," Aurelie said to Marius. "I see now why you were so in love with her. And I'm so very happy for you. Enjolras saw your marriage in the newspaper—"

"To a Euphrasie, which upset Aurelie," Enjolras said with a snicker.

"Oh, you have no idea," Aurelie cried. "All I could think was that true love was lost to you forever, but I should have had faith in it. How lucky you are, Marius."

Marius took her hand on the table. "Do you remember the man at the barricade? The one who would not shoot a man, yet protected us all?"

"The one who shot Javert?"

Marius shook his head. "The one who pretended to shoot Javert, but let him run. Javert committed suicide that night." They were off track. "Aurelie, that man was her father. He came to save my life. Dragged me from the barricade after I'd been shot in my collarbone." He eyed Enjolras levelly in gratitude. "Thank God you trusted that man, Enjolras, for I would not be alive today were it not for him."

Enjolras exhaled deeply as he closed his eyes. "You had wanted me to leave, when had I known this I would have ordered you out immediately. I came to understand my errors in the way I had viewed duty that morning, and while you know I could not leave, I know I should have. It seems our proper duty went understood by those who saved us that day."

Cosette returned with a tray: a pitcher of lemonade, four glasses and teacakes. Their glasses were filled, then she sat down to listen as these three spoke, promising herself she would not interrupt their reunion.

"And how did you ever survive?" Marius asked as he gaped.

It seemed both Aurelie and Enjolras knew to take each other's hand, as the motion for the other's was made at the same time.

"Benoit has either the best timing or the worst," Enjolras said. "Had he been there minutes earlier, perhaps he would have been shot or saved me before I was. Either way—"

"Either way," Aurelie interrupted, gripping his hand for dear life as she relived what she had seen. It seemed it still pained her very much to remember those final minutes; something she had not thought about since Enjolras had returned to her. "Either way, I should be the one who explains this."

She then told him of her prison in the closet as she watched Enjolras face the firing squad. She told him of Theodore, and how he had followed through with saving him, as he'd wanted to by questioning Enjolras' involvement in killing their gunner captain.

When she told him that Theodore had also spared her life, Marius said: "I should like to meet this man."

"You will," Aurelie assured him. "He has become a dear friend, because he aided Benoit for nearly three months in nursing Enjolras to life."

Enjolras then took over, explaining his recovery and why he had waited so long to alert Aurelie. Marius listened intently, able to relate to the physical pains suffered over months, and the emotional pains that had been present throughout.

Cosette swooned as both Aurelie and Enjolras told the story of their reunion. She was blinded by their love, and felt like a child in comparison as she listened to how the two spoke, with no negative connotation to the thought. It was more of a feeling of awe. They were so strong and powerful, their words strung together in phrases that no song could compare to. They were eloquent and mature, and she had felt as though she were in love with them as the legendary pair; it was now that she knew they were no legend, and now that she understood exactly how loved they were by her.

"Marius has spoken of you as an angel," Cosette said as their story came to a close. She felt a need to explain exactly how valued Aurelie and Enjolras were by both her and Marius. "And of you as a god," she added as she turned to Enjolras. "It seems he spoke the truth. You may not understand it, but Aurelie, you became the closest friend I've ever had through his stories."

"I believe it, and felt the same before you'd ever heard my name," Aurelie told Cosette.

"Did you really fight at the barricade?"

Aurelie shook her head. "I did not. I only waited to watch."

"Oh, indeed you did fight," Marius cried in a low voice, warning her not to be humble. "I told Cosette of your honor, how you dressed as a boy. Cosette, Aurelie fought fiercely. She did not watch from above the way she insinuates. The way most did. I told you of her injury; how brave she was to scale that barricade despite all protests from Enjolras and I. And above all, Aurelie—" He eyed her levelly as she swallowed "—You honored our dead, each of them individually as they were taken away. It was your love that led the battle."

Enjolras wanted to hold her as his eyes began to water. It had been, without a doubt, Aurelie's love that had both strengthened and weakened him. She had put the conviction behind every decision he'd made that day, and it had been her that allowed him to feel accordingly in response to every action made.

"I hated it," he whispered, shaking his head.

"Aurelie was there when I received your letter," Marius continued, softer now as he remembered how Aurelie had driven him. And he turned to look into Aurelie's eyes as he spoke so she would know exactly what she had done for him. "Through her, I learned the depth of love. I was lost, but it was Aurelie who helped me through the forest to find my way once more. She brought me dawn when I thought the sun would never rise again."

"Did you truly do these things?" Cosette asked under her breath, wishing for the confirmation from the angel. She had heard these stories with the exception of the last; how Aurelie had a profound impact on Marius, and while she'd thought of Aurelie as a fierce warrior—while she'd swooned over their love story—she had not heard of the support Aurelie had offered Marius, and she would forever be grateful.

Up until now, Aurelie had not realized the impact she'd made on those at the barricade. She'd known they all loved her, but had not once thought they'd received much from her in return. At the barricade, she'd viewed herself as a burden, having thrust herself upon these parties who wished for her to run.

But as Marius had just devoutly worshipped her for the effect she'd had, the dead would have compounded upon this devotion with their own stories. Grantaire, were he alive today, would have said she had given him what he'd thought was unrequited love. Eponine, had she lived, would have sworn it was Aurelie who kept her from going mad. Gavroche, as needless as his death had been, would have not been so inspired as to fight like a man instead of a child had she not shown him that, when the time comes, there is an intrepid man inside us all. Bossuet, who had not known she was there, would have called her his trigger.

This was a woman who had touched every person who had ever had the pleasure crossing her path. If asked of those who had not known of her presence at the barricade how Aurelie had changed them, all would answer with a charming or orphic tale of a moment they'd been enlightened. Ask them in heaven and they will say they all stand sentinel as her guardian angel for the rest of her days: Courfeyrac serving as warrior, Combeferre serving as healer, Prouvaire serving as liberator, Joly serving as benefactor, Feuilly serving as convoy, Bahorel serving as purveyor, Bossuet serving as escort.

Aurelie simply bowed her head.

Knowing she would not speak, Enjolras answered for her.

"She truly did everything Marius said and more."

It was an austere moment that passed before Marius felt a change of direction was necessary, and it must be aimed at Aurelie, as he had clearly shined a light upon her that was unwelcome, however complimentary it had been. Perhaps his compliments should have remained confined in his heart, but she needed to know what she had done for him. What she had done for them all.

"Tell me," Marius began, placing a gentle hand on the table. "How long before another Enjolras enters our world?"

This coaxed a smile from Aurelie, who had been overwhelmed by the adoration she had been receiving to the point of pain in her chest. The sort of pain one feels when they've only just learned they'd impacted the world; a pain of a full heart and humble soul.

She placed her hand on her stomach and smiled. "But a few months, now," she said, then met Marius' eyes with a smile. "It should scare you, Marius. Another one of _us_—" And by us, she meant her and Enjolras, but further, she meant them all: Marius and those who had passed at the barricade. "I can't fathom how I'd parent any one of us, and just imagine it magnified!"

"Oh, but you'll be the best mother," Cosette gushed, beaming.

"She will," Marius agreed with a laugh, then leaned sideways toward Cosette. "But I can see where the fear lies, as these two are a force to be reckoned with alone. Together they are both transcendent and terrifying."

This sent the table into laughter, as it was verifiably true.

"Marius," Aurelie said once she had pulled herself together, and she leaned across the table in earnest and with an inquiring gaze.

This gaze flicked to Enjolras for a moment, and in this brief acknowledgement, Enjolras offered a nod, agreeing with the unspoken question, as they could always read each other's thoughts. Always.

"Cosette," Aurelie added, softly smiling at the girl. "I'd like to ask a serious question of the both of you, and you do not have to answer me now, but give it some thought."

"Anything," Cosette sang, both tone and posture eager.

"I'd like to ask the both of you to serve as godparents to our child," Aurelie said.

"You need even ask me this question?" Marius demanded as he flew back in his seat.

At the exact time, and resounding over his voice, Cosette's hand rushed to her chest as she cried out: "Yes, of course!"

Enjolras eyed them both with a sardonic smile across his lips. "Careful before you agree too quickly," he warned. "Aurelie is roman-catholic."

"As am I!" Cosette cried.

Aurelie whacked Enjolras' arm with the back of her hand as she said, "You say it as if it's an affliction!"

"No doubt it is," Enjolras said through his laughter.

Turning to face Cosette and Marius, Aurelie said, "I am not stalwart, he is not ungodly. We meet in the middle, but our son will have been baptized were we atheistic." Her smile then morphed into a wide-spread tightening of her lips, beaming at them. "You really will?"

Marius nodded his head. "Without doubt in my heart, it is the greatest honor I've received second to bearing witness to your marriage. And it seems Cosette agrees."

"Oh, I do!" Cosette said, unable to comprehend the joy she felt just now. She was elated to the point of feeling light headed. "Aurelie, you and I will be such friends!"

"We will indeed, and more," Aurelie agreed, then reached across the table to take her hand. "We will be sisters, you and I."

Nearing supper time, Aurelie and Enjolras bid their adieus, embracing each as one would family, and after all, they would be now, forever tied by their child come his birth.

But the afternoon did not end in perfection. As Marius watched Aurelie and Enjolras walk toward the gate, a moment struck him down into a question he had needed answered since the fall of the barricade, and before he even thought that this question may spoil their day, Marius called to Aurelie and ran after her.

Aurelie, understanding Marius was coming to her with something important, but not comprehending why, suddenly stopped and turned to face him just as he caught her hand.

He stood in silence for a moment. In stillness.

It was this pause that had Aurelie saying to Enjolras: "Go on, I'll be out of the gate in a moment."

Wetting his lips as his brows narrowed, a flash of concern coursed through him. His eyes darted from Aurelie to Marius, then back again. He then nodded his consent and walked out the front gate.

"What is this, Marius?" Aurelie asked, locking into his eyes, searching his soul.

Marius shook his head. Swallowed heavily.

He asked simply: "What was it for?"

This question jolted Aurelie, and in turn, she too swallowed heavily, as it had been a question asked of herself in private since June 6th. They'd personally grown from it, though that was something that could only be viewed now removed from the barricade. But their friends had all perished and in the most horrible, violent way. Yes, they had died with honor, but what had been achieved? Paris had looked forward, France was at an impasse.

"I don't know, Marius," Aurelie said honestly. "It seems things happen."

Marius held his breath as he waited for more.

Aurelie had finished her statement.

* * *

A Fresh Start on Life

December was cold, and the wait had begun.

With a few loans, from his parents and grandfather, from his coworker Cremiuex, from Benoit, from Theodore, from Marius; all offered willingly despite his urge to handle his finances alone, Enjolras had purchased a large house in Trocadero mid-November. While walking through the neighborhood with Marius one evening after dinner—an evening Cosette and Aurelie had left them to their own devises as they talked of babies—they had stumbled across this house for sale. Enjolras had paused wistfully, but quickly hid how he wished it was in his budget. This did not go unnoticed by Marius, who grabbed his arm before he could get too far. There they had paused for a very long time, staring up at it.

Marius said: "What a house!"

Enjolras said: "It is an unreasonably large house and I'd never stand for such a thing."

Marius said: "I stand here and imagine you leaving for work through the door, kissing five or six little blond heads before you step through the gate. You would need the room for them, as this country is not rich enough in educated children who can out-populate the older generations. It is, of course, the duty of future generations to create a just world."

Enjolras said: "I will be content with one little blond head, however right you may be. And with the one, we only require two bedrooms."

Marius said: "But should you have two children, you will need three bedrooms. Should you have three, you will need four. Personally I would like the house I raise my children in to be the house I die in."

Enjolras said: "Either way, this is not a house in my budget. I have saved a quarter of what this house would cost—"

Marius interrupted: "And in such a short time, which is quite a sum indeed! You will be a very rich man, and very quickly. To have an impact on our world, in our government, you will have the wealth and the fight to do so. You would need such a house to entertain the bonapartists and the republicans separately. The men of title and men of government, and by entertaining such people, you have the charm and knowledge to change their minds."

Enjolras said: "I still have my blood."

Marius said: "You don't own your blood anymore, Aurelie does. Our wives will no doubt give us permission to shed it when the time comes, but until then, change a mind with your influence. As for the money, and at risk of you punching me in the jaw as this is said, you will take a loan from me which can easily be paid back within two years, perhaps even one."

He was met with silence, so Marius added: "Aurelie would look lovely in such gardens. The columns are hardly worthy of her beauty, even though they are magnificent and regal. I've no doubt the ceilings are tall enough and the rooms large enough to contain both your egos, though barely. But you are right. This is a shabby house and not worth losing your pride of accepting a loan."

After a tour that following Saturday, Enjolras purchased the six bedroom house, and two weeks later, Aurelie and Enjolras moved in. Aurelie had been blinded by the magnificence of the house, which should more likely be called a manor, though in Paris, there were none such houses large enough to be called this. A manor, of course, was more like the house she had grown up in; a four story, twelve bedroom estate with an entire floor of servant quarters, which added another eighteen abodes. But Aurelie never wished to live in a manor again. This house, in all its resplendency, was far more than she'd dreamed of in Paris, and was stunned and elated Enjolras had purchased such a residence.

The house was but a ten minute walk from Marius and Cosette, which would allow their child to grow up near his second family. With Cosette and Pauline, Aurelie spent her days decorating. And many evenings, Enjolras, Marius, Benoit and Theodore would do the heavy lifting of moving furniture while Aurelie directed placement.

The nursery was attended to by Aurelie and Enjolras only, and only together. It was painted yellow with a blue ceiling so their child would wake up every morning to a sunny day with a blue sky. They would smile at each other under furtive glances while painting. They relished in every second of this intimacy; deciding where his cradle would be placed, along with a rocking chair, his toy-box, changing table, dresser and the like.

And on December seventh, Aurelie went on bed-rest at the order of their physician and midwife.

In these days, rooms were generally kept in darkness for the mother-to-be, but Aurelie would not allow it. She wanted to see the snow fall outside the window as she waited. Craved the light through the window to illuminate the large bedroom; its blue damask walls and crème wainscoting.

She smiled at all times, even when she felt a pain, for the pain of birth was welcome.

When Enjolras was not at her side, Cosette was. She would read to her and hold her hand as they talked for hours upon hours, and it was on such a day, with Enjolras at work, that Aurelie's head abruptly popped up from the pillow and she calmly stated: "Cosette, I believe he is on his way."

Cosette leapt up in a panic. The order of events to follow had been discussed in full detail, in the case it was a day with Cosette that Aurelie went into labor, and Cosette cried, "My God in heaven!" then took Aurelie's hand in assurance that she would do exactly what she must and would not let her down. "Ten minutes, Aurelie!"

She then dashed out the door.

While Cosette sprinted out of the house, onto rue de Lota, around the corner to rue Dufrenoy, turning onto rue de la Faisanderie, then knocking on the midwife's door, who sent one son off to procure the physician, the other in a carriage to alert Enjolras as Cosette and the woman hurried to return, both sliding on the ice and barely able to remain upright, then entered the Enjolras residence, breath heaving and feet stomping as they scaled the long staircase; while all this happened, Aurelie smiled to herself, profoundly calm and impeccably ready.

The midwife, having never tended to a woman so tranquil whilst in labor, doubled over with one hand on a knee, the other at her chest as she tried to catch her breath. She turned to Cosette and said, "Did we rush for a false alarm?"

Aurelie, having heard this, whipped the down comforter from her swollen body until not a toe was covered. It appeared as a wave on the ocean, and once the crest had been removed, there was a wetness left in the trough.

Aurelie's smile was perfectly serene.

Having assumed upon seeing Aurelie that this was only the early stage, the midwife cried out upon seeing the soaked sheets and ran to her bedside. In a mere matter of seconds, she was working Aurelie through breathing exercises the girl did not need; Aurelie was pastoral in nature. It would seem from an outside perspective that Aurelie was humoring the woman by following her instructions as they waited for the physician, and you would be right to think so. Aurelie did as she was told only because she was told to do so.

The physician arrived in an echo of the wake the midwife and Cosette had left; heavy of breath, dampened of snow and disheveled from the rush. The only difference was that he saw a woman in labor with a midwife instead of a collected mother-to-be.

Orders were made for hot water as the physician lit a candle to sterilize his utensils, and Cosette followed each and every command over the next hour without hesitation, a superb handmaid throughout the process. Cosette was not calm, she was the antonym of the word, but she achieved excellence because of her panic.

When Cosette heard the door open below once more, she ran from the room and stood atop the staircase, tensed and frightened, while at the same time swept up in the excitement of it all. Wildly shaking her hands upon loose wrists, Cosette called down, "It began almost two hours ago!" as Enjolras scaled the staircase, taking two at a time. He had reached the top before she'd completed the sentence, and Cosette grabbed his arm. "I'll stay out here with you!"

If you had seen Enjolras' face after this had been said, you would have laughed, as he stared at her as though she'd just spoken in Latin. It did not help that he was disheveled, having ripped the knot from his cravat in the carriage and unbuttoned the top of his shirt. His blond curls were sugared with snow and every spec of color that had been applied in the cold had drained from his skin now inside.

His scoff that followed was the sort a man makes when they feel someone is out of their mind, and Enjolras, entirely improperly however appropriate, said just as much:

"You're out of your mind!"

In coming to love and understand Aurelie and Enjolras, Cosette was rocked with a wild, nervous laugh as she palmed her forehead, grinning against a swell of moisture in her eyes, and she followed behind him as he sprinted down the hall.

Flinging himself into the room with a hand on the doorframe, propelling his body like a slingshot, Aurelie met his eyes instantly, and he froze. It felt like days had passed while riding in the carriage after he'd received word, and he exhaled a breath he'd been holding the entire way.

Aurelie's face was rosy, her hair brushed back with a slight sheen of sweat at the roots. Her elbows were locked, hands splayed and applying a firm pressure on the mattress. Her chemise was wrinkled at her waist, knees in the air. Their physician, the same man who had tended to her since the barricade had fallen, walked over to Enjolras and wiped his hands clean on his smock.

"We're just fine in here, Monsieur," he said calmly with a solid nod as he ushered Enjolras back and out of the room. "I'll send updates at the proper intervals."

Enjolras swallowed as his lids gently closed. He inhaled to find some repose. Aurelie was fine; well enough, anyways. She had, in fact, appeared rather calm, despite the sweat and tensed positioning. While he hadn't been thinking the worst in the carriage, he'd had flashes of it on the final approach, but everything and everyone was in their proper place.

With the exception of himself.

"Is there anything I can—"

"No, Monsieur Enjolras," the physician said, his cadence meant to sooth the man; he'd had plenty of practice mollifying husbands as their wives did the hard work. "You have my word you will be notified of all progress made, but I assure you, she is quite well." At this, the physician breathed a small chuckle. "Oddly calm," he seceded, "given the circumstances!"

It took these words for Enjolras to relax; if this physician was finding her odd, then all was certainly right. She was different than every other woman in all areas of life, so why would this have changed now?

He felt a hand on his arm gently urging him back, and he reached over to cover Cosette's hold with his own. "Thank you, Monsieur," Enjolras said through a sigh.

"I'll be with him in the drawing room until he has more company," Cosette told the physician, hooking her arm into Enjolras'. "Should you need anything before I return, you can find us there."

While it was not apropos for men to be at the bedside for the birth of their child, this was not what kept Enjolras away. He would do as he wished regardless of manners, often times acting despite them. It was that he would not serve as a distraction. Aurelie had not asked him over when he'd entered the room, which meant he was to stay out. Should she ask for him at any point, however, he'd be by her side, manners be damned.

Over the course of the next two hours, Benoit, Theodore, Marius and Pauline had all arrived and were exiled to the drawing room, Cosette coming down sporadically with the update that there was no update; that Aurelie was still breathing through her labor pains, she was perfectly lucid and succinct in her responses to questions, and all was better than normal.

Benoit, who had never apprenticed through a labor, was nervous, though tried to compensate for this by assuring everyone that he, as a man of medicine, believed in this physician, and he no doubt took Cosette's messages to be the truth.

Pauline, who as a woman was empathetic with the pains Aurelie must be experiencing, repeated incessantly that she hoped Aurelie was all right.

Theodore, a man who had discovered the artist that resided inside of him, spoke words of poetry and verses of music in an attempt to keep the atmosphere low-key.

Marius, who had a wife and dreams of their children, spent most of the time noting each step and the actions of those around him so he would know what to expect when his time came. And the very most attention paid as he thought of this was likening himself to Enjolras.

Enjolras, however, was agitated with worry. He paced the room, would not sit, even for a moment. He was handed a glass of wine at one point, which was instantly placed upon the mantle and forgotten in the next second. When Benoit reminded him it was there in hopes he would drink some down so he'd find the calm, Enjolras swept it up, took a small sip, then forgot of it once more.

He wrung his hands, he wiped sweat from his brow, he ran fingers through his hair, he patted his thighs. He would say: "Perhaps I should check on her", then be reminded by the soothing voice of one of his companions that news would be delivered and would he please sit down! On one particular request, he actually did sit down for a moment, but was back on his feet the next and the pacing resumed.

Not once in his life had Enjolras felt a true lack of control.

As a man in love, he had no control over it, but his behavior had been regimented to give him the sense of control. It had taken discipline, which he was skilled at, and though he had executed such regulation wrongly in retrospect, at least he'd felt a blissful satisfaction.

As a general in war, he had no control over it, but he had designed every detail from positioning in Paris to positioning of a splinter. He had a predicted direction and an appropriate response to each decision made. It had been artistry at its finest, regardless of the overarching failure to achieve what they had all hoped and dreamed for. He'd known with absolution that men would die, believed he himself would die as well, so even the worst case scenario (which we know it certainly became) was controlled.

This situation he could not control no matter what sort of effort was put into it. It was out of his hands; had he the hands of God himself, he could do nothing. Only time could dictate itself and decide the outcome. He was at a loss.

Worse, he felt useless, another first in his twenty-three years. He'd always had a position to take, personally claimed or impersonally bestowed, and knew it was where he was meant to be. He could not wrap his head around having no position at all; confined to a drawing room while the woman he loved lay in pain above his head.

This only magnified the overwhelming swell of turmoil. Aurelie was in pain and he could do nothing for her. She was destined to be in pain until time decided itself, which was unfair! If his purpose of keeping Aurelie protected went unfulfilled, which included keeping her out of pain, he had no purpose whatsoever. More, he needed to atone for the time he had not protected her; the morning at the barricade when she'd been struck by lead. Yes, this here was a predictable pain, and certainly a pain that would lead to elation and joy, but how could he sooth such pain imprisoned in a drawing room?

In short, Enjolras was helpless.

The sun had long since set and it was nearing midnight when Aurelie, whom had maintained a cool composure for so long, finally let out her first scream. It was against an enormous amount of pressure and the worst pain she'd felt as of yet, and she could barely hear the midwife tell her to push over the guttural sound exiting her lungs.

Downstairs, no one breathed as this echoed through the large house.

In the second of silence between this first scream and her second, Enjolras dropped his hand down upon the mantle.

"I can't do this."

It was a statement without any sort of volume other than that of a man saying as he stares at the sky that it's about to snow.

He was gone before the second scream.

When he burst into the room, the midwife instantly took to her feet to push him out, but she met the impenetrable wall that was Enjolras. He would not move, he could not even hear her demands that he must. All he could see was Aurelie, bathed in sweat and reddened as though she'd been boiled.

"Monsieur, please!" the midwife cried, her arms outstretched and trying to contain he who could not be contained, and Enjolras brushed by her as if passing through a drape of cloth.

Not once in his long career had the physician seen a man willing to enter a room during birth, as much as they'd impassively ask if they should so they could say they were brave enough to do so. And in this particular case, he was not surprised. Aurelie was like no other woman, and after having met the husband she'd thought dead, he was like no other man, thus it seemed only natural that he enter just as the head was crowning.

But he did glance up from his work to eye Enjolras.

"Well? Don't just stand there, take her hand."

It took his touch for Aurelie to stifle the next scream so it exited as little more than a moan with the consonant a pronounced capital 'N'. She mashed her teeth, but held Enjolras eyes as she'd suck in the air between each push, and in these brief silences, she would feel him pet her head and hear him tell her how well she was doing.

But, as all women with children can tell you, just as you feel the pain is the worst it could be, the moment arrives where nothing less than a scream can suffice, and it is brief, and it is primal, and it is magnificent.

Enjolras turned to the physician in terror, certain something was drastically wrong, just in time to see his child swept into the midwife's arms and bundled in a towel. He did not drop Aurelie's hand, but the pressure relaxed, as the pressure had_ immensely_ relaxed for Aurelie, free now of it and only in the dull roar of residual pain and thorough exhaustion.

Aurelie's eyelids fluttered through her ever-steadying breathing, but Enjolras' eyes were wide as moons.

The room was silent.

For too long, the room was silent.

He was still helpless as he watched the physician calmly doing absolutely nothing. The midwife calmly doing almost nothing; just gently cleaning the child with a dampened cloth. Glancing at Aurelie, she caught his eye for a moment and smiled, then turned her gaze to the midwife.

Suddenly, the physician swept up his scissors, as though it had been planned this way (and it had; the physician was exact with timing after having ushering hundreds of souls into this world), and the cord was swiftly cut, deftly knotted, then dropped as he turned to tend to the baby.

It then let out its first cry.

* * *

All Questions Have an Answer

Cosette burst into the drawing room, and all eyes turned to her expectantly.

Grinning madly, she gripped the doorframe and said, "It's a boy!"

And these mouths, which had remained silent since they'd heard Aurelie's first scream, exhaled in relief. And these feet, which had remained in place for the better part of fifteen minutes, began to move.

Feeling a sense of purpose and power for the first time in her life, Cosette held her hands up to stop everyone. "Let's give them a few minutes."

Aurelie was handed their child and gazed at this perfect little man, in the first few minutes of his life.

Placing his chin on Aurelie's shoulder, Enjolras wrapped his arm around his family so his hand rested on the side of his son's head, and he brushed the forehead of the tiny infant with his thumb.

"You're name is Honore," he told their son. He didn't dare blink, as he didn't want even a millisecond to go by without his eyes on this little soul, aware of the responsibility he had to sheath and properly raise this child to be a good strong man.

"Perhaps Honore Grantaire Enjolras?"

A loving chuckle was breathed as Enjolras said, "You would name our child after a drunk?" though it was said with endearment to the man he had been so fond of, regardless of how he'd incessantly chided him.

"I would name him in honor of the man who stood in front of you, sacrificing his life and saving yours," Aurelie whispered, unable to take her eyes off Honore, and she tickled his chin, relishing in every little sound he made.

"I know it, I believe it, and I could not agree with it any more than I do," Enjolras said.

They listened to their child for a long moment; his sporadic cries, his little moans and squeaks. They watched as he tried out his muscles; his fingers curling, his arms reaching and falling. Enjolras explored him, brushing against his cheek, studying his tiny fingers.

"Have you ever felt such love?" Aurelie asked in wonder.

Enjolras smiled. "No," he said. "Not this variety, and I worship you further for all you've given me, and what you will give to our son."

"You will be the best father," Aurelie said, then grinned as she saw Honore adjusting his lips, noting how his lower lip pursed forward; the infamous look of Enjolras' disdain. "He has your lips, no doubt."

"And your eyes," Enjolras said, raising his head from Aurelie's shoulder to look at Honore's mirror. Holding her eyes, he leaned in and softly kissed the mother of his child.

Aurelie shifted, sitting up further. "Would you like to hold him?"

Enjolras blinked as his jaw dropped. His head infinitesimally shook, fear coursing through his veins. "I'm not sure I— I don't want to hurt him!"

Cradling Honore's head, Aurelie handed the bundled infant out to Enjolras. "You won't hurt him," she said soothingly, endeared that Enjolras thought he might. "You're his father. Here. Hold your son."

She placed Honore in Enjolras' trepid arms, taking care to settle him so his head would not fall. After adjusting the blanket around the boy's chest, she leaned back to admire the sight of her husband holding their child. The way Enjolras stared at Honore; his gaze both pastoral and overwhelmed. How his lips were slightly parted in reverence, and each noise Honore made would cause a quake of Enjolras' shoulders. She could tell how worried he was that Honore may be uncomfortable in his arms; he was indeed paying attention to these sounds, listening for a sign of distress. She was in love with this picture.

It was, without a doubt, a masterpiece no painter could ever replicate.

Finally able to relax after eight hours of discomfort, Aurelie leaned back, allowing herself to collapse against Enjolras. Cuddling up to her family.

There was a gentle rap upon the door, and Aurelie nodded to the midwife, who had been bundling the bloodied blankets they'd placed beneath Aurelie as she'd been in labor. They were discarded into a hamper, then the midwife walked to the door and opened it.

"Are we allowed to come in?" she heard Benoit ask.

The midwife looked to Aurelie first, who nodded with a serene smile on her lips, then to the physician.

"We are quite finished here," he said, gathering up his case. He turned to Aurelie and Enjolras. "I'll return in the morning to check on things. Meanwhile, Madame Patenaude will be on hand through the night to see you through." The physician walked over to the pair on the bed. "Of all the babies I have delivered, and I say this with certainty and experience, this boy is already a great man. I'm honored to have been the physician who served you tonight."

The physician walked through the door and received a handshake from the men waiting outside, then made his way down the stairs.

Benoit entered first, and his relief was palpable. He was instantly taken by the sight of Enjolras and his sister on the bed, holding their first child; his nephew, and he slowly walked to their side, the first to see the child's face.

Pauline followed, then Theodore. Marius, holding Cosette's hand, trailed behind.

"Oh, he is so beautiful," Cosette cooed.

"My sincerest congratulations," Theodore told them, and the smiles he received in return from both Enjolras and Aurelie made him once more swell with emotion, reminding him of the right he had done in saving this man from the horror of June 6th.

Marius was so overcome, he could not speak. There was a prominent lump in his throat as he looked upon the two people he so venerated, cradling a new life.

Unlike so many mother's, Aurelie was calm and free with allowing her brother and friends to have their chance of holding her son, and they all did so with fear and trepidation and awe and admiration. Honore would have so many who loved him, and in this, he was blessed.

However, after an hour, the exhaustion was getting the better of her, which was noticed first by Cosette.

"I believe we should leave them to rest, as this has been a very long day," she said, weaving her hand into Marius'.

Enjolras rose from the bed as Benoit handed Honore to Aurelie. "You are all welcome to stay here," he told them. "Why have such a large house with empty rooms tonight?"

"We're but a ten minute walk," Marius said, then turned to the others. "Perhaps you can come stay with us, however. Allow this new family to be alone, and this way we can easily return in the morning."

This was agreed upon, and after bidding Aurelie a goodbye with a kiss, bidding Enjolras a goodbye with a handshake, they began to exit the room.

But Aurelie's head abruptly rose from the pillow, suddenly awake, as there was something that needed to be said.

"Marius," she called, and he instantly turned around. She beckoned him over with her head. "Sit with me for a moment."

Marius dropped Cosette's hand, gesturing that he'd join her in soon. Enjolras took a step back, his brows narrowed in curiosity as he watched Marius gently sit down beside Aurelie on the bed.

"Look at him again," Aurelie said, and watched Marius to be sure his gaze was upon her son. She did not look down, instead keeping her eyes trained on Marius. "You asked me the day we reunited what it was all for. I have your answer."

Hovering above the two, Enjolras stared down at the woman he loved as she spoke, and his eyes began to water as she eloquently explained the answer to the question that had tormented them all for so long. His heart swelled, and it was a moment he would never forget.

She said: "It was for love, Marius. For love of Patria. For love of humankind. For love of a future and for love of a past. For love of each other. For love of life, and above all, for true love between a man and a woman, and their love for their children."

For the love of Enjolras.

For his love for her.

Always.

_ FIN_


	19. Author's Final Note

Final Note:

If you are reading this, you likely made it through the ridiculously long novel I have posted, and for that I am deeply grateful and humbled that you took the time to read my work.

This began as an experiment that had no intention of ever seeing the light of day. Having written a few novels, I found that the narration was always my voice, so I wanted to practice a different voicing altogether. Made my practice target Les Miserables for the love of it, and 120k words later, there it was.

After I had finished it, I decided to share it here with an enormous amount of trepidation. When I received my first review, I did a happy dance. My first follow, another. My first favorite, yet another. I cannot begin to express how much happiness I received when I'd find a notice in my email that someone had reviewed or added it to favorites, and for that I am indebted to you. And if you have not reviewed, I'd love to hear from you, good or bad.

I am writing and posting this note for a specific reason, however. If you enjoyed this, I am in the midst of writing a sequel. I had originally killed Enjolras to stay true to this being a strict parallel of the events, and did a ton of research to remain accurate with the politics and history, even using names of those tried after the barricades in 1832. While researching, I had a spark of inspiration, and it is for that reason only that Enjolras lived.

**Because I am nearly out of document space, I have made a second account to post this sequel, so if you are interested in continuing the journey with me, please follow "Clearlylock2":**

www. /u/4963661/Clearlylock2

My heartfelt thanks to these who have accompanied me through the process:

Pica Britanica

Clare-ity

Caroline Lily-ann Youla

Stagepageandscreen

Their work is extremely well done, and the four of them inspired me to keep posting with their kind words and encouragement. I highly recommend reading their stories.

The last I'd like to thank is Catalyst, who has offered me a tremendous amount of encouragement and is beta reading my sequel.

And to all those who reviewed without an account, I wish I could thank you through a private message as I have with the others, but this will have to suffice: Thank you, thank you, and thank you!


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